


Stuck between Blood and Claws

by Timelady_93



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood Loss, Blood and Torture, Bloodlust, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Pre-Half-Blood Prince, Romance, vamp!Snape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:42:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3216161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timelady_93/pseuds/Timelady_93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry potter gets riled up in Potions class and gets himself another detention.<br/>Only, now he's got both Umbridge's and Snape's detention to attend. </p><p>With Professor Umbridge's black quill, Harry carves deep into his own hand, making<br/>himself bleed as quickly as he can, for he is already late to Snape's detention. </p><p>But how will Snape react, starved as he is, when confronted with fresh blood?</p><p>(vamp!Snape)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Detention, Mr Potter...

 

Harry was brushing his fringe out of his eyes. The potion fumes erupting from the steaming cauldron he was currently stirring made his hair stick to his head like wet glue. Looking up, he glared towards the greasy git that was slowly walking around the classroom, stopping every now and then to examine a student’s cauldron with an unpleasant curl of his lip.

 

Harry watched silently as Snape approached Neville’s potion which was a furious orange colour. Large, purplish bubbles left the boiling surface and floated to the ceiling where they stayed, without popping. Snape sneered at the boy, making him shiver where he stood. Obviously, it hadn’t helped that he’d been paired off with Hermione, Neville had messed up the potion regardless, probably out of sheer nervousness.

 

Harry glanced down at his and Ron’s cauldron. It was simmering slightly. The lightly green surface looked startlingly much like the Slytherin house colours, especially since Ron was pouring something silvery into the potion. ‘ _Wait, what?_ ’ Harry looked up again, feeling a cold shiver run down his spine.

 

“Ron…please don’t tell me you just poured some unicorn’s blood into the potion?”

 

The red-head looked up, confused. “But it said so-” he grasped the textbook and read out loud to his friend, “‘Add one teaspoon of unicorn-…’ he stopped reading when he realized his mistake. “ ‘…horn, powdered.’ ” His face went pale.

 

Harry groaned. Snape was going to cast one look at them and send off Harry on another detention. He didn’t have time for more detentions! Umbridge was already punishing him for telling the truth! He silently gritted his teeth and stirred the potion more violently, making some of it slosh out on the worktable.

 

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, because suddenly, a smooth voice announced venomously, “Ten points from Gryffindor for not being able to follow even the simplest of instructions.”

 

Harry hadn’t heard any footsteps, that greasy bastard had actually sneaked up on him!

 

Ron paled further as Snape closed in on them and spoke again, “Ten points from Gryffindor for ruining perfectly usable potion ingredients from my valuable stock.”

 

Harry glared at the ruined potion and kept stirring it as he continually ignored the Potion Master’s next line of words.

 

“It seems you will never learn to listen to orders, Potter…Just like your father, arrogant and…” Snape leaned forwards and purred the last word right into Harry’s ear, “…stupid.”

 

Harry was shaking with fury. He opened his mouth to retort, but stopped. It was just what the man wanted. No, better just stay silent and ignore him.

 

Snape persisted and rose to his full height, “Now, Mr Potter, tell me, _where_ exactly did this potion go wrong?”

 

Ron showed off his Gryffindor bravery and cut them both off before Harry had the chance to say anything idiotic. “Me, Professor, I misread the instructions and I-”

 

“…You added a teaspoon of very valuable unicorn’s blood, yes Mr Weasley, I already noticed that. Now if you don’t mind, I believe I was questioning…” the black eyes stared down on Potter’s black mop of hair, “…the Golden Boy, here…not _you_.”

 

Harry muttered something inaudible beneath his breath.

 

Snape quirked an eyebrow, “Sorry, I did not quite hear what you had to say?”

 

Harry rose from his seat, despite Ron’s desperate tugging at his robes to remain seated, and he glared up at his Professor to clearly state, “My dad was _not_ _stupid_!”

 

Snape regarded the boy down the impressive length of his hooked nose. Then, in a swirl of his large, black robes as he returned to his desk in front of the class, he announced, “Detention, Mister Potter. My office, tomorrow evening, eight o’clock. Arrive late and there will be… _consequences_.”

 

He sat down with the grace of a landing bird, softly and almost intimidating. He stared down at the class a moment before the black wand swirled out of the dark tangle of his robes and a wordless spell removed the potion Harry was still trying to save.

 

As the bell rang out for lunch in the next second, Snape collected the vials of potion the students left on his desk as they slowly left the classroom, one by one.

 

When Harry tried to make his way past Snape’s desk, Snape looked up at him and almost smiled. “Ah. I see you’ve managed yet another zero, Mr Potter.”

 

Harry ignored him and elbowed his way out through the door. A few Slytherins giggled at Harry’s furious look on his face as he passed them. Ron simply sighed. Hermione looked at them both and shook her head sadly as they made their way to the Great Hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what your thoughts are! 
> 
> I want to keep writing this, but it's your job to make sure I share it with you ;D
> 
> Next chapter; Potter arriving at Snape's detention...


	2. A Heavenly Scent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potter scrubs cauldrons for Snape when he loses control.  
> Snape that is, not the cauldrons...

Harry Potter hurriedly made his way down from Professor Umbridge’s office, wrapping a napkin around his bleeding hand. Silently cursing beneath his breath, he knew Snape would be furious with him, he was already ten minutes late and that would mean some _serious_ humiliation, probably until four in the morning. He pushed the door to the dungeons open and started to hurry down the stone steps, into the dark, damp corridors leading to Professor Snape’s office with his heart pounding in his chest.

  
Severus Snape was seated by his desk, calmly writing down a bright red ‘T’ on a first year’s essay. How could one be so _unimaginable stupid_ as to believe that he, the Potions Master of Hogwarts, would accept such utter drivel-  
  
He paused, his quill twitching slightly in the air, hovering above another unfortunate student’s essay, about to be marked with yet another ‘T’. What was that smell? He raised his head and sniffed. His rather large, hooked nose caught a scent that made his mouth water. What on earth..? He took a deep breath, filled his lungs and tried to identify to whom the scent might belong. No luck.  
  
He gave up, laid down his quill and glanced briefly at his pocket watch, placed neatly beside the nearly empty inkwell that had once been filled with blood-red ink. Potter was late, very much late indeed. He closed his eyes and fought the hunger that suddenly threatened to overcome him. He had not eaten properly for more than a month. He knew he was more prone to snap at students, but after all, he needed to keep his image intact. It wouldn’t do to suddenly act kindly towards students, now, would it?

 

Picking up his quill once more, he scrawled an angry red ‘T’ on the essay below. No need to read it, it was bound to be rubbish anyway. He grit his teeth in seething anger, ‘ _Now, where, in the name of Merlin, is Potter?_ ’ He decided to ignore the tantalizing scent that only seemed to grow nearer, as if closing in on him, threatening to choke him with its delectable scent alone, and so he shrouded his emotions with his usual sneer.  
  
Harry slowed down his steps as he closed in on Snape’s office. The last thing he wanted was to appear out of breath, not that he shouldn’t be out of breath when he’d been running all the way from the seventh floor to the deepest parts of the dungeons. No need for Snape to know that.

 

Harry stopped in front of the correct door and took yet another deep breath, silently wondering how bad the punishment for being late would be. He raised his uninjured hand slowly and knocked three times. Almost instantly, he could hear Snape grate out “ _Enter_ ”. Harry hid his bleeding hand behind his back, pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.

 

Raising an eyebrow at the creaking of the door, Snape watched as Potter’s scrawny form was soon sighted in the doorway. As the door opened wide, Snape was suddenly assaulted tenfold by the heady scent of fresh blood and it did not seem to stop when the boy had closed the door behind him either. He clenched his jaws shut tightly; he could feel the itching need in his very teeth as they sharpened and elongated, ready to strike. That damned Potter! Of course it had to be _him_ he’d smelled earlier. He narrowed his eyes and stared as the boy approached him, every fibre in his very being, vibrating, screaming at him to tear flesh and sink his teeth into that pale, soft, yielding tissue that was simply hiding what he needed. He swallowed tightly.

 

Harry walked up to Snape’s desk, unknowing of the danger he was currently in and opened his mouth to speak. Snape was quicker, however and muttered something inaudible. Harry waited as it seemed Snape wanted to collect his thoughts and held his injured hand tightly behind his back with his other. He could feel his heart beat through the wound and he made sure his face showed nothing. But still, Snape was staring at him quite strangely. He seemed angry, but he hadn’t actually said anything about the fact that he was almost fifteen minutes late. He could feel his blood seeping through the thin wrapping of the napkin and he whipped his hands in front of him, glanced down to confirm his fears. When he looked back up, Snape spoke to him with a strange tone to his voice.  
  
“Now, Mister Potter, when you have finally graced us with your presence,-” Snape gestured with his hand towards the large row of dirty cauldrons piled up, just waiting to be scrubbed. “-I believe you could use some of your ‘intelligence’ to figure out what I’d like you to do with them.”  
  
Harry looked the Professor in the eye, “You want me to scrub them, Sir?”  
  
Snape sneered at him and continued, “Yes… Potter. _Without - magic_.” Snape’s black eyes caught sight of Potter’s hand. A thick, juicy drop of deepest crimson was slowly descending from the concealed wound on the back of Potter’s hand. He unconsciously licked his lips and leaned forwards a little, his teeth aching, his stomach contracting in pain and his mind, still screaming at him to attack, to go for the jugular.  


Harry sighed and turned around, unknowingly breaking the spell his professor found himself stuck in. Setting his mind to the task at hand, he successfully scrubbed out four small cauldrons from their remains of frog brains and rat spleens before Snape suddenly stood up from behind his desk, clearing his throat rather loud. Harry turned his head towards him, confused. He flinched slightly when he bumped his injured hand into the edge of the cauldron, smearing it with blood. All the scrubbing had made the wound worse; making it bleed quite profusely now. He grimaced at the sight and tried to unwrap the sodden napkin to inspect the damage done, when he is stopped, by the angry voice of Snape.

 

“Potter, no!”  
  
Harry looks up; frozen momentarily by the hostility he caught in the short command. Snape’s hands are shaking before he firmly plants them both on the top of his desk. His face looks even paler than usual and he can swear to Merlin’s white beard that those are pearls of sweat on the Potions Master’s forehead, before he can see the man swallow hard, almost gulping. Harry stared at the greasy bastard, whom he actually felt a little sorry for now; the man did really not look too well. Perhaps he was ill?

 

“I’m sorry, Professor, what-?”

 

Snape sucked in air through his nose, secretly savouring the scent, before he ground out, between clenched teeth, “Potter…You-you’ve done enough. You may leave.”  
  
“B-but…?” Harry gestured lamely towards the row of dirty cauldrons. Quite sure that this is some kind of trick and Snape is just trying to test him, he tries to argue. Not that he truly _wants_ to scrub cauldrons, or be sociable with the dungeon bat, no; he just wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be tricked into another detention for disobeying, too.  
  
Snape sighed deeply and whipped out his wand. With a quick flick, all of the cauldrons were all cleaned up and neatly stacked in their appropriate spot. “There!” he growled, “Now go!”  
  
Harry stared a moment at the seething image of his Professor. Then, he nodded quickly and started to leave for the door. In the corner of his eye, he could see Snape, staring at him, fists clenching as if he wanted to hit him. Unconsciously, Harry tries to walk faster.

 

As he reached out for the door handle, he could feel a pair of strong hands grabbing his shoulders and turning him around, away from the door, facing the potions Master. The sight of Snape so close to him, that greasy hair almost touching his face as Snape leaned down towards him, the grip of those long, pale fingers firm to the brink of being painful on his shoulders, is not nearly as disturbing as the look in his professor’s eyes. The look of pure, untamed hunger in those black, unreadable pools.  
  
A low, growling noise suddenly emanates from Snape’s throat, its very essence making Potter squirm and shiver in pure fear. He opened his mouth to speak, but was caught short when Snape used his full strength to shove him flat against the damp, cold stone wall, making him lose his breath quite efficiently.

 

A hand ripped open the white collar of his shirt, making a pair of buttons clatter to the floor, his tie, quickly loosened and dropped to join the buttons. Then, Snape is suddenly on him, lips pressed tightly against his naked, exposed throat, his head forcefully yanked back by a hand that moved a little bit too quickly, the other pressing down flat on his chest, holding him in place pressed to the cold wall. Harry raised his arms to push Snape away, wondering why he didn’t do that long ago, when all of a sudden, he can feel them. Snape’s yellowish, crooked teeth pressing against his skin, threatening to rip open his neck.

 

Through the mist of panic at the fact that the notorious dungeon bat is in fact an actual vampire, pure fear is flooding his brain. He tries to break free several times, only to find himself in a tighter and tighter grip the more he tries to get away. He screams, he hits him, but nothing works, his heart is at his throat when he suddenly remembers something.

 

Over the pounding in his ears, he can vaguely hear Hermione reciting from a book she’d found interesting in the library a couple of days ago, ‘…- _if caught in a helpless position, a person under assault by a vampire should not panic, but instead try to stay calm. If the prey is struggling, the vampire will be tempted to give in to its natural urges, most likely killing its victim rather than simply feeding a small amount of_ -…’

 

Harry sucked in a deep breath, shivered lightly, closed his eyes and tried not to move. He found it extremely difficult to heed Hermione’s advice, especially since he was wrapped up in a tight unforgiving cage of Snape’s arms, hot breath on his skin and his heart beating faster than it has ever done, even in the most exhausting of Quidditch practices.

 

A heartbeat later, he finds himself yelping in pain as Snape’s teeth break the soft skin, tearing their way forcefully and mercilessly into the young man’s throat, digging deep to find the warm, pounding blood of Harry’s veins.

 

As soon as the wound is made, Snape removes his teeth, which hurts almost as much as the bite itself, and those pale lips seals securely around the leaking wound. Harry keeps his mouth shut tightly, afraid to utter any more noise. He doesn’t dare moving. Snape is a vampire. His mind is reeling; pain is coursing through his body, making him unknowingly utter a quiet whimper, drowned by the suckling noises his professor is making as he gulps down the blood that is flowing freely from the gaping wound.

 

When Snape eventually pulls back to breathe, he can no longer understand what is happening to him. His chest hurts, his mind is foggy and he can feel sweat trickling down his spine as he draws in a few painful shallow breaths. Snape’s lips returns to savour the slow trickle down his throat, licking up the excess fluid as it emerges from the still open wound.

 

Snape has finally calmed down, his thirst quenched; he lazily dragged his tongue over the wound until it closed up without a single trace behind. Except that Potter seemed to be a little unstable at the moment. Still caught up in the haze of feeding, he doesn’t understand why the boy can’t stand up on his own. Then, as his mind catches up with reality, he is struck with a bone-chilling fear, deep in his heart. He’s killed the boy who lived.

 

Gathering the unconscious boy in his arms, he bolted from his office, headed straight to the infirmary. Meeting no one on his way there is more luck than he could have hoped for, but the look on Poppy’s face as she lays eyes upon Potter’s slack body is one that will haunt him for days.  
  
“Severus!” She hurries towards them both, gesturing to a nearby bed, as she exclaims, “What’s happened?” Snape keeps his lips firmly pressed together and says nothing.

 

Poppy waves her wand over Potter’s motionless body, muttering quite a few incantations under her breath. She hurried off to the potions cabinet a few feet away and returns, her arms cradling several bottles.

 

“He’s suffering from extensive blood loss, if we don’t hurry, we will lose him!”

 

Snape is startled by the urgency in the usually calm nurse and nods, still silent.

 

“Well, don’t just _stand_ there!” Poppy grabs his hands and places them on Potter’s slack jaw. “Hold his mouth open so I can administer his potions!”  
  
Snape grudgingly does as he is told and observes as potion after potion is poured down the unresisting throat as Poppy massages the pale neck to make sure he won’t choke on them. He knows those potions well, he’s brewed them himself. Blood-replenishing potions. A total of five of them are poured down the boy’s throat before Poppy deems herself finished.

 

His stomach twists uncomfortably. He never meant to murder the stupid boy. Just a quick little taste, that’s all he wanted. The worst part of it all, Potter’s blood had tasted quite divine, unlike any other he had tried before. He mentally scolded himself and made sure his face was adorned with his usual sneer. Which it was, when he turned to leave and found Poppy blocking his path.  
  
“What?” he muttered, staring at the nurse.  
  
Sniffing, Poppy gestured towards the unconscious Harry Potter, “Well, he sure enough did not end up like that on his own, now did he?” She narrowed her eyes, “Severus, I know what you did; there’s blood on your collar.”  
  
Snape flinched at the words and his hand shot up to feel at the small strip of white shirt that was visible amongst his black robes. It felt sticky, and sure enough, his hand was stained with red when he withdrew. Staring at his hand, he drew his wand as if to remove the stains, but instead, he spun on his heel, pointing the tip of the black ebony right between Poppy’s eyes as he muttered out, ‘ _Obliviate’_ with a calm voice.

 

As Poppy was trotting back to her office, believing that Potter had injured himself during a particularly nasty Quidditchmatch, Snape found himself hesitating.

 

He was staring down at the defenseless boy, tucked in between the crisp white sheets and he was _hesitating_. His wand was steadily pointed towards Potter’s head, not trembling, not even wavering in the slightest. Only Dumbledore knew his secret. He couldn’t allow _Potter,_ of all people, to know as well. Yet he did not remove the boy’s memories.

 

Instead, he conjured a chair, sat down in it and stared at the Boy Who Lived, Almost to Be Murdered by Snape, The Vampire.

 

Maybe, just maybe, Potter would agree to donate some of that delicious, sweet-… Snape shook his head, Potter was going to scream bloody murder when he woke up, and when he woke up, he would take those memories away from him. As soon as that thought had left his mind, Potter moaned in the bed. That was quick. Snape narrowed his eyes and spoke,  
  
“Potter, I’m sorry for what I did-” Snape inwardly chuckled, he’d make sure the boy wouldn’t remember _that_ either, “-but I was-”

 

“You-you-” Harry interrupted Snape mid-sentence and gathered his jumbled mind together, trying to identify where he was, what had actually happened and why the Merlin was Snape apologizing? “-you don’t…what are you apologizing for?” He sat up, held a hand to his throbbing head and tried to look at Snape, but he was blurry. His glasses must be gone.  
  
Snape fell silent in quiet shock. “I almost killed you, Potter.”  
  
Harry squinted at his Professor, “Are you really a vampire, Sir?” He felt a shiver down his spine as the events were returning by full force to him now. He fidgeted a little where he sat.  
  
Snape snorted angrily at him, “Do you want more proof? I could bite you again, if you so wish.”  
  
An offer made in jest and Potter paled visibly, matching the sheets in colour. “Are you really that hungry, all the time, professor?”  
  
Snape rose from his seat, determined to fulfil what he had originally intended, “Yes. But that is none of your business, you imbecile. _Obliviate_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think!  
> I think I made Snape too mushy and Potter far less brave than he really is...


	3. Snape's lack of pallor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry regains consciousness and can't remember a thing about yesterday.  
> Ron & Hermione are both convinced there's something fishy going on when Pomfrey mutters something about idiotic Quidditch practises. 
> 
> Harry is shocked during the lunch in the Great Hall when his head starts to hurt and doesn't Snape look unusually healthy today?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, here's chapter three!  
> Ended up writing on this one instead of "Volatile", so now that one is horribly late...  
> oh well, I hope you like this almost 'fillery' kind of chapter!
> 
> (Also, let me know if you find any misspelled words...)

Chapter Three, Snape's lack of pallor

Snape was in his private rooms, wandering furiously back and forth in front of the fireplace. He could still taste Potter’s blood in his mouth. To be quite honest, he couldn’t stop thinking how immensely stupid it had been to lose control like that, but oh, how secretly grateful he was that he had in fact, lost his senses and attacked the boy. If he had not, he would perhaps never have sampled such an exquisite flavour that Potter had turned out to be.

He cast a glare towards the burning fire, as if it was to blame for his actions. He finally decided to not tell Dumbledore of his little slip. There was no need for that meddlesome old coot to dip his enormously large nose into Severus’ private matters! Of course, it was the right thing to tell the Headmaster of such a thing, but who knew what kind of consequences that could bring upon him… He knew one thing, at least, as he stopped his wandering and leaned heavily on the mantelpiece, he would _never_ feed from Potter again. Most certainly not. He shuddered as his mind recalled the sweet, wonderful taste…

Early next morning, Harry Potter woke up, but did not open his eyes. He felt strangely drained of energy, as if he’d been running a marathon last night. He tried to remember what he’d done to end up feeling like his body was made out of lead. He remembered sprinting away from Umbridge’s office, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember where he’d been headed.  
  
He groaned and blinked his eyes open. He felt dizzy, as he tried to focus on the world around him. A fuzzy brown head along with a flaming ginger leaned over him. When he tried to sit up, the sheets felt weird and he realized he was in the hospital wing. Ron and Hermione were seated on a chair each, guarding his bed.

Harry cleared his throat and croaked out, “Hey, what’s up?”

Ron looked astounded, “What’s up? You’re in the hospital wing!”

Hermione handed him his glasses, which he put on as she added, “Harry, what happened? You never returned from Professor Snape’s detention.”

Harry frowned. “Snape’s Detention?” Suddenly, he recalled he had been bleeding a lot from his hand. He looked at it, but it was properly bandaged up. At least no one else could see it then. And, he thought, if Madame Pomfrey had tended to it, he’d probably not even get a scar.

Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances when he didn’t speak further.

Ron stared at him and said, “Yeah, _double_ detention. You went to Umbridge and then you had to see Snape, too.”

Harry raised an eyebrow questioningly, “I had detention with Umbridge last night and then I…I went flying?” His voice ended up sounding as if he was asking himself. He couldn’t have gone flying. He was forbidden to fly thanks to that old pink toad! He bit lightly on his bottom lip and thought. Then what had he done to end up in the hospital wing?  
  
Vaguely, Harry heard Hermione say to Ron, “See, I told you there’s something fishy here!”

Ron nodded, turned to Harry and explained, “We spoke to Pomfrey and she said you’d fallen off your broom, during last nights Quidditch practise.”

Harry shrugged, “I bet I fell in the moving staircase and hit my head. And then I lied about Quidditch, instead of telling Madame Pomfrey the truth.

When they both stared at him he continued with a strange voice, “Because that’s the only logical thing, isn’t it?”

When they didn’t answer, Harry groaned and massaged his temples. His head felt funny and it had begun to hurt as he tried to remember what he’d been up to. Had he really had detention with Snape? How could he have forgotten _that_?

Before any of them could say another word, Madame Pomfrey emerged from her office, carrying a small bottle in her hands. As she approached them, she said, “There you see Mister Potter, Quidditch is a dangerous and foolish sport! You could have broken your _neck_.” Her stern expression softened a little as she saw Harry’s strained face, “I assume you have a headache?”

Harry nodded weakly, and Pomfrey held out the potions bottle towards him, “Here, drink this and then you may leave for breakfast.” Harry didn’t bother to answer; he took the bottle, said his thanks and emptied it in a single gulp.  
  
******   
Later that day, Ron and Hermione were still throwing worried glances towards Harry every once in a while.

He finally had had enough of their obvious concern and said, as they all settled in the Great Hall for dinner, “Alright, what’s the _matter_?”

Hermione looked at him with a determined look on her face, as she scooped up a generous portion of shepherd’s pie onto her plate.

“ _What’s the matter_ , she echoed in an uncharacteristic snort, _Harry_ , I, to be quite blunt about the whole thing, believes that Professor Snape did something quite unthinkable to you.”

Harry stared at her, “No, you can’t be serious! Snape? Doing… _what_ exactly?” He felt a touch of nausea clutch his insides in a firm grasp at the mere suggestion.

Hermione continued, as if she hadn’t heard him, “I believe, that Professor Snape obliviated you, so that you cannot tell Dumbledore of what kind of twisted detention he made you do!”

Harry paled as his mind reeled with all kinds of disturbing images. He pushed his plate away, he had lost his appetite, thank you very much. Right at that moment, he felt a strange twinge in the pit of his stomach; he looked up and saw Snape, walking slowly to his spot at the high table. Suddenly, as a blazing pain hit him, he clutched the edge of the table hard, it felt as if his head had been split in half and he gasped in pain.

Somehow, it felt as if he was trying to remember something, but it was just out of reach, his mind not quite able to grab it. Then, he had it, small fragments of the night before danced before his eyes. Snape, acting strangely, wanted him to leave as soon as he’d barely finished his fourth cauldron. Snape, sweating, looking pale and sick. The pain in his head was gone as soon as it had arrived.

Ron and Hermione hadn’t noticed what had just happened and Harry wasn’t sure he could explain it himself either. He turned around to tell them, but they were already busy talking about the first Hogsmeade weekend. Instead, Harry stared up at Snape and the rest of the staff. He noticed the greasy git looked perfectly healthy. He even had a faint, rosy tinge on his cheeks. Harry frowned. Had Snape removed his memories of the previous night because Snape had been ill? Why would he do that? Shrugging, he returned to his previously ignored meal and started to eat. He could think about that later, next was Herbology and he didn’t want to be bitten by the venomous plants in greenhouse four, just because his mind was occupied with _Snape_ , of all people.  
  
Late, that same evening, Harry and Ron were alone in the Gryffindor common room, occupied playing Wizard’s Chess when Hermione entered through the portrait hole. “Found anything?” called Ron, looking up at her.

She carried a large book, no title or anything on it, and plopped down heavily in a plush armchair next to their table. “No, not really. I’ve been thinking…” Harry’s knight was knocked off his horse and dragged away from the board. “…we have double potions again, tomorrow, the last lesson of the day…” She stroked her hand absentmindedly over the cover of the book in her lap.

Ron groaned, “Oh, stop talking about _lessons_ will you!”  
  
Hermione pursed her lips and glared at Ron, who fell silent and returned to focus on the game. She pried open the ancient book and sifted through a few pages as Harry was fighting a losing battle on the chessboard, and then she suddenly tensed and stuck her nose into the book, reading a few paragraphs very closely.

Harry and Ron ignored her. Once she got reading, there was no stopping her and they both knew it. Ron grinned as he exclaimed, “Check Mate, mate!” He sniggered.

Harry groaned, this was his fourth loss in a row, but before he could complain about it out loud, Hermione cleared her throat to get their attention. She quickly looked around the common room, as if to make certain they were actually alone, which they were, before she spoke, “Tomorrow, during potions, I want to observe Snape’s behaviour.”  
  
The two boys stared first at each other, then at Hermione, before Ron exclaimed, “Are you mad?” He raised his eyebrows as if to prove his point further, “You actually want to _look_ at Snape?”  
  
Her bushy hair flew as she shook her head, “I want to see how he reacts when you, Harry ‘accidentally’ messes up in class tomorrow.”  
  
Harry shrugged, “He’ll do as he always does, give me more detention. Or deduct House Points. What’s the point of that?”  
  
Hermione bit her lip, her habit when she was thinking things over hard. “I have a theory that I would like to put to the test, to see if I’m right.”  


“What theory?” Ron asked.  
  
Hermione shook her head once more, “Let’s just say that if I’m correct, I will speak with Professor Dumbledore about Professor Snape.”  
  
Harry looked surprised, “About _what_? Are you going to tell the Headmaster he’s got a greasy bastard that teaches potions? I think he already knows that, ‘mione.”  
  
But Hermione refused to tell them anything else and after Harry had suffered yet another humiliating defeat in Wizard’s Chess, they decided it was time to sleep.

*****

Double potions with the Slytherins had never been fun to begin with, but now it was more than usually awful. It seemed Snape was in the worst of his moods, snapping at everyone, even his own House. Strangely enough, Snape walked great circles around Harry, seemingly just to avoid being near him. Harry was glad, but Snape took out his anger at the rest of the Gryffindors more than usually.

They had been separated again, Hermione was paired off to Millicent Bulstrode, who seized every moment she could to bully her. Ron had ended up with Malfoy, and Harry himself with Neville.  
  
“LONGBOTTOM!” Snape’s crazed yell echoed throughout the dungeon classroom and Snape came speeding towards Harry and Neville, a furious look in his eyes. Harry felt Neville quiver beside him.

“ _What_ _do you think you are doing_ , _Longbottom_ ,” came the snarled whisper as soon as Snape was close enough.  
  
Neville had been chopping flobberworms as Snape approached, but now his hands were trembling so much he had to put the knife down on the table. Harry glared at the Professor and suddenly felt a searing pain in his head again, but this time he was prepared and he grabbed the desk as the fragmented memories swirled before his eyes.

 _Snape, grabbing him and pushing him against the wall, Snape,_ _growling and biting his neck_ …Harry came back to his senses in a rush, sweaty and quite a bit shaken at what he’d just seen, no _remembered_. The voice of the Potions Master cut trough the haze of his mind and he forced himself to be focused on the present.  


“Did I not tell you, to dice the flobberworms in even, _square_ pieces, Longbottom?” The cold, silky voice trembling with anger made Neville gulp before he replied, “Yes, Professor.”  


Snape sneered, and gestured with his whole hand towards Neville’s mangled ingredients. “Then, pray tell, what on _earth_ , do you call _that_?”  
  
Neville did not reply, he stared down at his own shoes as Snape went on, “That, is a complete waste of good potions ingredients, be glad that flobberworms are such common creatures, or I would have personally made you go into the Forest and collect them _yourself_!” he spat out the last few words and his black eyes glittered with malice as he turned to Harry and barked out, “Potter! Dice them for Longbottom, since he so obviously does not understand the word ‘dice’.”

Snape then turned his back on them, stalking towards the Slytherins, who suddenly stopped grinning and hurried to look busy, leaning over their cauldrons, stirring heartily.

Harry gritted his teeth so hard it hurt and reached for the knife, when it happened. Neville reached out to hand the blade to him, but he was shaking so much he accidentally stabbed him in the palm. Snape stiffened in the other end of the classroom as the knife noisily clattered to the floor. Harry gasped in pain and wrapped the end of his robes around his hand to stop the bleeding.

Snape could taste Potter’s blood on his tongue when he caught the scent. His stomach contracted in need, as if he had not almost drained the stupid boy last night. He slowly turned on his heel to watch Potter, hunched over at his desk and clutching his hand, Longbottom looking pale and ready to faint. He swallowed thickly. He couldn’t stop staring, wishing to see that deep red liquid again.

Suddenly, he became very aware that almost every student was staring at him, as if they expected him to do something. He opened his mouth to yell at Potter, but snapped it shut again. He could feel his fangs already starting to grow, rapidly. Deciding that Potter would probably survive the ordeal, he silently walked to his desk, in a few short determined steps, where he sat down behind it, glared at everyone, silently daring them to oppose him.

The smell of blood was soon completely enveloping him, tempting him, but he couldn’t open his mouth to dismiss the students. Or cast a spell to heal Potter’s wound. They would see his fangs. He was sure he would be able to obliviate every single student of the event, but he was also sure he could manage to endure the final half hour that was left of the lesson without killing anyone.

That, however, turned out to be extremely difficult. He remained in his seat the rest of the lesson, sitting as still as a statue, fighting an internal battle whether to leave the room or simply walk up to Potter and drain him dry. In the end, the latter was near on impossible to avoid.

He could feel his muscles tensing, ready to strike, his blood boiling and his heart beating as if it wanted to escape his ribcage. Finally, the bell rang and Potter was amongst the first few who left, no doubt hurrying off to the hospital wing to treat his hand.

When the dungeon door slammed shut, he dared to breathe a sigh of relief. He slumped in his high backed chair and groaned. In his heart, he knew what was going on, but for once, his rational mind couldn’t accept it. He knew he either had to consult his private library, or Dumbledore. Not even considering the ‘Headmaster-option’, he made sure his fangs were gone before he left the classroom and walked the now deserted corridor down to his private chambers to do some reading. As he walked and thought, he became more and more certain that he was unfortunately correct in his assumptions. But he still wanted to make sure he had squashed every hint of hope before he gave up.  
  
He uttered the password to his chambers between clenched teeth, entered and immediately headed to his enormous collection of books, neatly arranged in several bookcases lining the walls. He found the volume he was looking for at once, pulled it out and sat down in his emerald green armchair with a sigh in front of the fireplace.

When he had found the page and read the paragraph he had searched for, he narrowed his eyes and his face regained the usual classroom-sneer. Then he promptly summoned a glass of fire whiskey from his cabinet. Downing the contents in one swallow, he threw the glass into the dungeon wall. The smashing noise made him feel a little better. What he had just read had made him feel nauseous.

****

At the very same moment, a bushy haired girl was bent over a dusty looking old book; secretly ‘borrowed’ from the restricted section, looking very similar to the one Snape was currently keeping in his lap. Only, this girl let out a squeal of joy when she found the paragraph she had been looking for.  
  
“Harry, Ron, listen! I think I’ve found something!” She cleared her throat and began to read,

“‘…. _When the suspected vampire in question has been an undead for at least one year and two lunar months, he or she will begin to develop the ability to sense, only by the scent, who will become their ‘mate’ during the dark period of the present or coming year, depending on when the person became a creature of the dark._

 _The mate is ‘chosen’ without any respect to the said vampire’s sexual preferences or feelings and it is not uncommon that the ‘mate’ might be forced into this arrangement, seeing as the vampire will not be able to resist his mate’s blood. During the dark period, the vampi_ -’ ”  


Harry held up a hand and interrupted her, “Hang on a moment, when’s this ‘ _dark period_ ’ supposed to happen anyway?”  
  
Hermione quickly skimmed through a few notes she’d made on a scrap of parchment and immediately came up with the answer, “During October to Mars, I believe.”

“B-but that’s _six months_!” Harry spluttered. Ron looked horrified, “If you’re right, then-”  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes, “Let me finish?” The two boys nodded and she resumed her reading, “ ‘…- _During the dark period, the vampire and its mate will grow to be more accustomed to each other, as the vampire will now become dependent upon its mate’s blood. No other blood will be able to satisfy the intense blood lust that might occur during this time of year._

_As a result, many vampires keep either willing or forced donors with them in their nests, so as not to kill their mate whilst feeding. Also, quite a few vampires, about 45% of the vampire population, become emotionally unstable and require constant closeness to their mate._

_As stated above, the blood derived from donors will not satisfy the vampire, nor will the blood from its mate, unless_ …’” Hermione suddenly blushed and trailed off.

Both Ron and Harry stared at her, saying in unison, “Unless _what_?”

Hermione looked up, still a little flushed, “Unless the vampire has…” she coughed lightly and turned her face to the book again, “... _has an established sexual relationship with its mate, to ensure the unstable vampire of its mate’s loyalty_.”

Harry stared at her, eyebrows raised in confusion and disgust. “So…are you saying that….Snape’s behaviour today…?”

Hermione nodded, “Yes.” Harry groaned, but Hermione continued, “Professor Snape is a vampire looking for his mate and, well…judging by the way he acted today and what you told us you can remember…he’s very aware of what is happening to him and he is obviously forcing himself to stay away from you.”  
  
Harry was suddenly very red in the face, “Well, he’d bloody better stay away from me!”

Hermione looked as if someone had died, “Harry, I’m sorry but-”  
  
“No! Just no! This can’t be happening!” Harry rose from his armchair and paced the room, punched the back of the armchair and screamed, “WHY SNAPE OF ALL PEOPLE!”  
  
Ron gave him a half smile, “Hey, quiet down a bit, okay? I mean, we’ll tell Dumbledore, right?”  
  
Hermione nodded, her hair flying, “Yes, yes of course we will.”  
  
But Harry only glared at them both, “As if he doesn’t already know! Snape would have gone running off to him the instant he thought something was wrong! I bet they’re already sitting in his office, _sipping tea_ , while they decide whether or not to _bother_ getting some donors for Snape, because hell, _why can’t he just fuck me instead_!”

Feeling rather drained, pardon the pun, Harry slumped back down into the chair, staring at his own knees as if it was their fault things had become this messed up.

Hermione glanced at the clock in the corner of the common room, bit her lip, closed the book carefully and said, “It’s not that late, we could still go and talk to Professor Dumbledore right now…”  
  
Harry didn’t answer, he stood up and gestured towards the portrait hole. The trio left the common room in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand you're done! A whole 7 pages *phew*
> 
> Tell me what you thought! 
> 
> Is the plot interesting enough? Do you want to keep reading? Is Snape going to be sacked? 
> 
> Tell me your innermost ssssecretssss.....xD
> 
> Until next time~


	4. The Wizengamot aren't fond of mad vampires, Harry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio seeks out the advice of the Headmaster.  
>  Arrangements are done and Ron is always hungry. As usual.

Dumbledore seemed to have been expecting them, for the first thing he said when they had entered the Headmaster’s office was, “Ah, Miss Granger, Misters Potter and Weasley. I must say that I am quite surprised you figured it all out so quickly.”   
  
Ron frowned, “Figured what out?” He let out a gasp of pain as he received an elbow in the ribs from Harry.

 

Dumbledore chuckled, “Ah, you see I almost thought that I would have the honour of sharing a cup of tea with Professor Snape this evening, but alas…” He shook his head solemnly before he squinted at them above his half moon glasses, “Now, what can I do for you?”   


Hermione cleared her throat and said, with a clear and headstrong voice, “Professor, we have reason to believe that Professor Snape is a vampire.”   
  
Dumbledore looked mildly amused, “Oh, is that so?”   
  
“Yeah,” Ron chipped in, “He’s been acting all weird-”

 

Harry interrupted his ginger friend, “He bit me during detention, Professor.”

 

Dumbledore frowned and steepled his fingers in front of himself. A moment passed in silence, then, “Do have some tea, Harry my boy.” An enchanted tea tray appeared on the headmaster’s desk, bearing five cups of steaming hot tea and several newt-shaped biscuits.

 

Harry stared at the headmaster and huffed, “I said, _he bit me_ , professor.”  


Dumbledore rose from his chair, “Yes, yes I heard you the first time. Now, tea.”   
  
Harry did not reach for a cup, “I _don’t want_ any bloody tea! Not until you tell me what the hell is going on!”   
  
Hermione looked horrified at Harry’s behaviour, Ron stared longingly towards the pile of ginger Newts and Dumbledore didn’t answer, he merely walked over to the fireplace and threw in a handful of emerald green glittering powder. The flames roared and flickered bright green in an instant.

 

Dumbledore spoke directly into the flames, “Severus, could you spare me a moment? I have a rather urgent matter to discuss with you.”   
  
The Headmaster stepped away from the fireplace a moment later to allow Snape to floo right into his office. The swirling black mass of Severus Snape stepped graciously out of the fireplace, dusted off a few invisible particles of soot as he spoke, “What is it _now_ -” he stopped, a hint of shock passed his features a brief moment as he kept staring at the trio with the fuming Harry Potter in the middle of the room.   


Before Snape had the opportunity to say another word, Dumbledore had retreated to his place in the high-backed chair and asked him, quite calmly, “Severus, my dear boy, is Harry telling the truth? Did you attack him during detention?” Dumbledore looked firmly at Snape above his horned glasses.

 

For a moment, it looked like Snape had lost track of what to say, then he schooled his face into a smirk and threw out a smooth, “I…Headmaster, I can _assure_ you, I’d never-”

 

“LIAR!” Harry clenched his fists at his sides as he roared, effectively making everyone in the room stare, wide-eyed at him. “ _I can remember you biting me_!”   
  
Snape’s face lost its little colour it had gained and he stuttered out, “Potter! How _dare_ you accuse me of…of such atrocities!”

 

“Stop lying, I know it’s true! You tried to obliviate me, but ha! Guess what, you _failed_!”

 

Spit was flying across the room as they screamed at each other, but eventually, Dumbledore stood up, held out his hands and simply said, “Silence.”

 

Snape clicked his teeth, Harry was red in the face from screaming, Hermione looked quite distraught and Ron had sat down in an empty chair, helping himself to a few biscuits.

 

Clearing his throat, Dumbledore looked at both Harry and Snape. “Severus…it is not like you to attack students, you have never done so in the past.”   
  
Harry shot Snape a triumphant glare, but his smirk faded as Dumbledore continued, “If I understand this matter correctly…Severus, is there something you’d like to tell me?”   
  
Harry’s face was showing his shock, “Wait, what? You’re not going to sack him?”   
  
Dumbledore shook his head at Harry’s question and turned to Snape once more, “Severus…Does this attack mean that you have-”   
  
Before the Headmaster had finished his question, Snape’s face looked as if he’d just had a mouthful of polyjuice potion before he spat out a snappy, “Yes.”   
  
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, “…I see.”

 

Harry finally understood what they were talking about, as he watched the expressions on both the Headmaster and Snape change as they turned to look at him. “No. No, this can’t be happening to me… _Professor_!”   
  
Dumbledore turned to face Harry, who was looking rather desperate, “Harry…There is something we might need to tell you.”   
  
Harry ignored them both and walked over to Ron, sat down in heavily the chair next to his friend and snatched a ginger newt off the tea tray.

 

Snape raised an eyebrow. Dumbledore turned to Hermione, “Miss Granger, is there any possibility that you have already investigated this issue?”   
  
Hermione nodded, her hair flying around her face. Snape snorted, “Of course.”

 

Dumbledore returned to his desk and with a quick flick of his wand, two more chairs appeared. Gesturing towards Snape and Hermione, they both took a seat, even if Snape sat down rather grumpily.

 

Harry was stuffing himself with handfuls of biscuits from the tray that just kept refilling itself, wearing a somewhat gloomy look on his face. The tray reminded him of the time he and Ron had flown Ron’s dad’s car to the school. Then, he’d been afraid of expulsion. Now, he would have been happy to face expulsion rather than to let Snape-   


“Harry?”

 

The Headmaster’s voice reached his ears and he looked up. “What?”

 

“Today is the 11th of September, meaning…” Dumbledore nodded towards Snape, who continued;  


“It has now been one year, two months and seventeen days…since I was bitten and turned.”

Harry raised an eyebrow as me nibbled yet another Ginger Newt, “How do you even know who’s gonna be your mate?”   


“Because,” Snape growled, “I can _feel_ it.” Narrowing his eyes, he continued, “Believe me, _Potter_ , if there was any chance… _at_ _all_ …that I could change our situation…don’t you think I would have done so already!”

 

Swallowing down the remains of his biscuit, Harry cleared his throat a little. “Professor Dumbledore?”

  
The headmaster’s bright blue eyes turned to him, “Yes, Harry, my boy?”

 

“Is there…any way…we can _not_ do this?”   
  
Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes a moment before answering. “I am afraid…no, Harry. We have no other option. Vampires who have identified his mate and choose not to bond with them become dangerous and bloodthirsty demons. We cannot allow Professor Snape to lose his mind. No matter the circumstances. Please, Harry, you must understand-”   
  
Snape cleared his throat and the headmaster looked up. “Sir. I cannot accept this…this utterly _absurd_ suggestion you’re implying!”

 

“Severus…if you do not accept your new life, you will be facing the Wizengamot for attacking and feeding upon a student. I’m afraid they aren’t particularly fond of vampires that-”   
  
“Albus!” Snape stood up so quickly, the chair almost toppled over. “You…you _can’t_! You know what will happen to me if I get sent to Azkaban!”

 

The old man behind the desk seemed unfazed by the vampire’s behaviour as he calmly pulled out a drawer and took out a bowl of Lemon Sherbets. “Severus, my dear boy, you know I have no choice when it comes to our student’s safety.” He held out a sweet to him, “Lemon drop?”   
  
Snape’s nostrils flared as he hissed, “ _I will not agree with your insane schemes this time_!”

 

“Then I’m afraid I have no other option…” Dumbledore raised his wand-

 

“Stop!” Harry shot up from his seat as well, staring at the two adults with horror evident on his face, “Headmaster, no one deserves to be locked up in Azkaban…Not even _Snape_.” To his surprise, the Headmaster’s blue eyes seemed to glitter with amusement and he lowered his wand.

 

Snape sneered at the boy, “I don’t need _you_ defending me, you-”

 

Dumbledore caught their attention once more, as he spoke loudly, “Mister Weasley and Miss Granger, if you’d please allow the three of us to have a moment to discuss a few things in private…?”

 

“Yes, of course!” Hermione shot up from her seat, eager to leave what felt like an impending battlefield to her. Grabbing Ron’s sleeve, she tugged him away from the cookies and out the door in one swift move.

 

As soon as the door had closed behind Harry’s friends, Dumbledore summoned a knife and a goblet from a nearby cabinet. Snape and Harry both stared at the items, Harry with confusion, Snape with bitter realization. Harry took a curious step towards the Headmaster’s desk to look closer on the items.

 

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Snape’s voice was so low and sounded so beaten; it could have belonged to another man.   
  
“I will not allow you to kill Harry, Severus. Not because of your nature alone. Please agree with me on this matter.” When Snape opened his mouth to protest, Albus shook his head, “You know I’m right.” Defeated, Snape sighed deeply. Then he nodded solemnly.   
  
Harry warily eyed the thin blade of the dagger on the desk, “Alright, care to tell me what’s going on here?”  
  
Snape glared at Potter a brief moment before he swiftly grabbed the knife and sliced his own wrist open. Harry gasped with shock and could only stutter as he watched as the greasy potions Master dropped the blood-stained knife and reached for the goblet, only to keep it close to his bleeding arm to collect the flowing blood. “Wha-what are you _doing_?”   
  
Dumbledore cleared his throat, “Harry, in this situation, there is nothing else that can be done. Listen to me, you have to drink that. _All of it_.”   
  
He could feel all colour drain from his face as Snape offered him the goblet. “I-I’m not…I don’t want to become a vampire!”   
  
Snape’s icy cold stare told him that his professor wasn’t at all overjoyed either. Then he said, “Potter, you utter imbecile!”

 

“What?”

 

Snape closed in on him, “It’s not that easy to become a creature of the dark!”

 

“B-but-” Harry gestured vaguely towards the goblet.   
  
“This,” Snape said, raising the blood-filled goblet slightly, as if giving a toast, “-will allow me to know where you are, how you feel and, sometimes, your innermost thoughts.”  
  
Harry backed away, “Hey! That’s like-”   
  
Snape followed him, “…you will never be left alone, ever again. I will be inside your mind and I will know _everything_ -”   
  
“Severus!”

 

Harry and Snape both looked up at the Headmaster. Then Harry noticed Snape’s long, pointed fangs had emerged. He shuddered involuntarily.   
  
“Severus, Harry, please, you must bond as a vampire and his mate as soon as possible.” When the Headmaster noticed Harry’s drained face, he quickly added, “The blood exchange is an excellent start, there will probably be no need for anything else.”   
  
Snape and Harry both knew what the old man implied, and they both shared a similar expression of disgust. This time, Harry took the goblet when Snape handed it to him. Then, with a last, worried glance at the Headmaster, who nodded encouragingly, Harry put the goblet to his lips. It tasted funny, like when you have a nosebleed and you swallow some of your own blood. Only, this wasn’t as metallic or even as disgusting as that. Harry hated to admit it, but when he swallowed the final gulp, he had already made up his mind that it didn’t taste bad, at least.

 

As soon as he’d finished that last drop, he felt a strange, warm sensation spreading from his stomach to the rest of his body. Then it was gone and he felt as he had always done. Snape looked like Christmas had been cancelled and Dumbledore smiled as Harry handed him the empty goblet.   
  
Dumbledore gently placed the goblet on his desk and asked, “How did it taste, Harry? Please be as honest and precise as you can.”   
  
Harry stared, first at the Headmaster, then at the greasy git. He cleared his throat. “It wasn’t… _that_ bad.” He shuddered again; Snape’s icy glare on him was quite intimidating, even in Dumbledore’s office…

 

“Wonderful!” Dumbledore pulled out a parchment from his desk drawer and quickly scribbled down a few notes with his peacock quill and trademark emerald green ink. When he was finished, he handed the parchment to Harry.

 

Harry took it and realized the Headmaster had written out a schedule. A feeding schedule. His and Snape’s first ‘appointment’, as the schedule read, was due tomorrow evening, at half past eight. Harry looked up at the Headmaster, who smiled towards the both of them.   
  
Winking at them, Albus said, “Now, off you go, I’m sure you will get along just fine.”

 

“B-but… _Sir_!” Harry stuttered.   
  
“You will need to have an established feeding schedule within the coming thirteen days. Because then, the dark period will begin. We do not want to endanger any student, or staff, so I trust you both, to do as you should in this situation. I am not happy about this outcome either, but we must do with what we have got. Understood?”   
  
Harry nodded wordlessly and stuffed the parchment into a pocket. Snape, who had been standing silent, observing them both, suddenly turned to Harry and grunted, “Don’t…be… _late_.”   
  
“No, Sir.” After a nod from the Headmaster, Harry was allowed to leave. When he had closed the door behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief.

 

Realizing it was very late, he hurried to the Gryffindor tower and, luckily enough, he didn’t meet anyone on the way there. Climbing through the portrait hole, he was greeted by an anxious, knitting Hermione and a yawning Ron, the two of them sitting next to the lit fireplace.   
  
“How did it go?” Hermione put down her knitting needles, (which probably was good, her work looked like it had more holes in it than yarn) and turned to face Harry.   
  
“I…” Harry realized he didn’t know what to say. Something like, ‘ _Hey I just drank a whole cup of the greasy git’s blood!_ ’ Right. Like he needed to go to St Mungos for mental issues on top of it all.

 

Harry sighed and tried to gather his thoughts, but never had the chance to say anything as Hermione already seemed to know what was wrong, “I suppose Professor Snape gave you his blood then?”   
  
Ron suddenly jolted upright in the stuffed armchair he was sitting in, “He did _what_ , did you say?”

 

Harry gave them a lopsided grin, “You read too much, Hermione.”   
  
She huffed, “I’m right, aren’t I?”   
  
“Yeah…of course you are.” Harry slumped down in the third armchair and gestured to himself, “I am now… _officially_ , a vampire’s mate.”   
  
“Bloody _Hell_ , mate!” Ron looked devastated and horrified at the same time, which resulted in a rather comical expression. Hermione coughed to cover her amused snort.

Harry actually smiled a little at his friend’s reactions, “You know what? Dumbledore even gave me a schedule, so I won’t forget to feed Snape! Like he’s my _dog_ or something.”   
  
Ron laughed at that, and the tension seemed to disappear between them. Harry stretched his arms above his head as he spoke, “I’ll have to go to Snape’s office tomorrow night, at eight thirty. He’ll probably want me out of his sight as soon as possible, so we can play chess as usual, Ron.”

 

“Yeah, sure. Great!” Ron stifled yet another yawn and said, “I’m going to go to bed. I feel exhausted.”   
  
Harry nodded at that, “Yeah, I’m pretty tired as well.” He turned to Hermione, who had resumed her knitting, “Goodnight, ‘mione.”   
  
“Goodnight. See you two in the morning.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A whole SIX PAGES!   
> This feels like a transition-chapter, like this is only the beginning. Hm.
> 
> More stuff coming soon (-ish). Let me know what you think. 
> 
> Is it worth reading? Are the characters acting somewhat believable? 
> 
> Next chapter will feature a pissed off Snape and a drugged up Potter, so stay tuned~


	5. A Starved Snape and a Passed out Potter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things turn from bad to worse when Harry receives a letter from Dumbledore stating that he must spend  
> more time with the Potions Master as soon as possible, starting this same day and lasting the entire weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! Eight new pages. *phew* Going to take a break now, I think xD  
> Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter, I hope you will leave new comments for this chapter as well!

 

That night, Harry lay awake for a very long time, thinking. He finally fell asleep in the early morning hours, only to be shaken awake by Ron, about three hours later.

 

“Harry! Harry, wake up, you’re gonna miss breakfast!” Ron was up, dressed and shaking Harry’s shoulder with his left hand while his right hand was busy holding a steaming piece of toast.

 Harry groaned into his pillow and grunted out a few muffled words, “Not hungry.”

 Sighing, Ron stopped trying to make his friend get up; instead, he took a bite out of his bread and sat down on the edge of his own bed. “You know… this thing with Snape…”

  
Harry lifted his head off his pillow a little; “Yeah? What about it?”  
  
“I’m sorry that… _thing_ ….you know, going on with….with you being his food-….um, sorry…” Ron stared at his feet for a moment as he gathered his thoughts, then he burst out, “I mean, he’s a bloody git!”

Harry snorted into his pillow; somehow Ron was able to make him laugh, even if he felt like he had signed off his soul to his own personal tormentor. Sighing, he left the warm comfort of his four poster bed and got dressed in silence.

 

When they both arrived down in the Great Hall a moment later, it was almost completely deserted. No staff was present and only a few students remained. But, sitting in the middle of the Gryffindor table, there was a large, white owl proudly clicking her beak.

 

Harry’s face split up in a wide smile. Hedwig was waiting for him; sitting perched atop the bench in front of the table where they usually sat during breakfast. He gave Hedwig a light stroke over her white feathers and she gave out a low, affectionate hoot.

 

As Harry realized she carried a scroll by her left leg, he reached for it and took it, before he reached for the table to get something to eat as he read the note. He only got a single slice of bread before the plates were emptied right before his eyes.

 

Of course, Ron had already hoarded a large pile of toast, and he gave Harry some from his pile.

 

Munching the cold toast, he unfolded the small scroll. As if the day couldn’t get any worse, the note was from Dumbledore. For a moment, Harry was utterly confused. Why would Dumbledore borrow Hedwig? Then he read the note.  
  
_’My dear Harry._  


_I wish you inform you that Professor Snape has happily agreed to allow you to stay in his chambers from this evening (Eight thirty, don’t forget!) until Monday morning. As such, you will have three nights and a whole two days to get to know each other beyond your old animosity._

_I hope you understand the severity of the current state of affairs and that you and Prof. Snape soon have come to appreciate each other a little more._

_Remember, both of you must be accustomed to your situation before the end of September! This matter is paramount and you will not under any circumstances fail to accomplish your task._

_Yours truly, Albus Dumbledore.’_

_Ps. Your owl is very intelligent. She was waiting for me in the owlery, stretching out her leg as if she knew the letter was intended for you._

 

For the third time that morning, Harry let out a deep sigh. As if he could forget about _that_! And now he’d have to stay the entire weekend. As if his life couldn’t get much worse already. Harry was grateful that Ron didn’t ask what the letter said. He had a hunch Ron would want to strangle either the Headmaster, or Snape. Maybe both, now that he thought about it.

Starting to feel more and more grumpy, he and Ron eventually headed towards the Entrance Hall, where they met up with Hermione.  
  
Ron’s face visibly lit up, “Hi Hermione! Where’ve you been?”

Hermione looked up from her thick book and smiled, “Oh, hello you two! Well, I’ve been in the library, studying, of course.”

“No surprise…” muttered Ron with a faint smirk.

Hermione walked outside first, the two boys following her, down towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest for their first lesson today, Care of Magical Creatures.

 

***

 

Harry didn’t know time could pass that quickly when you really didn’t want it to pass at all. Before he knew it, he had said goodbye to his friends and told them not to expect him back until Monday, which, of course had sprouted some discussion, which had ultimately led to that now, he was late. Great. He knew he was going to have to explain a bit more to Ron and Hermione about what was going on with him and Snape when this nightmarish weekend was over. He already longed for Monday to arrive.

His legs moved on their own, carrying him towards the cold and damp dungeons while his mind barely focused on anything other than ‘ _Why the bloody hell am I going willingly to feed a starved vampire??_ ’ and ‘ _Why do I have to stay all weekend??_ ’

Somehow, he had hoped he’d end up in the hospital wing, injured badly enough to stay the night and then avoid Snape as long as possible. As he walked, he realized he didn’t know exactly _where_ Snape’s chambers were located. Of course, both Snape and Dumbledore had forgotten to enlighten him on that minor detail.

Sighing, he headed towards Snape’s office, hoping to catch him there before he’d leave. As he arrived in front of the right door, it didn’t bode well for Harry. Most of the torches on the walls had been extinguished, and it was quiet in the corridor, no sign whatsoever that anyone would be in an office at this hour, but he decided to at least try to knock. Who knew? He might be (un)lucky enough to actually meet up with him before he left. He closed his eyes, steeled his mind and raised his hand to knock on Snape’s office door, ready to face a grumpy and most likely, fuming vampire.

“ _Potter_!”

Harry flinched and retracted his hovering hand from the door. Stalking down the corridor towards him in a flurry of green robes, was a furious professor McGonagall.

“What on _earth_ are you doing down here past curfew?” She stopped, three feet away from him, her lips pressed together so tightly they were a thin line in her face.

“I…um…” Harry gestured lamely towards Snape’s office. “I need to talk to Sn-…Professor Snape, Professor.”  
  
Minerva narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “At this hour? In what business, if I may ask?”  
  
Harry desperately tried to come up with something believable enough. A small shard of truth slipped from his lips, “Professor Dumbledore told me I should talk with Professor Snape this evening.”

Professor McGonagall kept staring at him with her lips as thin as ever. Then she unfurled her arms and said, “Well, Mister Potter, you won’t find him in his office. He has left for his chambers quite a while ago.” She pursed her lips and muttered, “He’s been unbearably cheery today. All because of Slytherin finally having a fighting chance at taking the lead in the match against Hufflepuff this weekend. Those thugs really believe they will win the Quidditch trophy this year.”

Huffing a little, she shooed Harry in front of her and kept talking, “Now, now, go right this way. I’ll take you there. Although I _really_ don’t understand what business it can be that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Harry was part relieved that McGonagall helped him find his way, part horror-struck that he was being escorted there, feeling rather like a prisoner being led to the gallows.

She led him down another corridor, through a small passageway and another door and then she stopped, gestured towards a sturdy oak door to her right. “Here we are, Professor Snape’s private chambers.”  
  
“Thank you, Professor.” Harry stepped forward and reached out to knock, when she laid her hand on his arm briefly. Confused, Harry turned to look at her.

“Be careful. He’s not been himself since…oh, well. Good luck, Mister Potter.” She turned her back and walked away, her steps echoing a little until they finally died away around a corner.

 

Harry shuddered yet again… so maybe McGonagall knew about Snape? He turned to the door again and reached for the handle when it was yanked open with a bang. Harry backed away, but yelped as he was grabbed by the collar and forcibly pulled inside the shadowy room. The door closed behind him with a boom that made Harry’s courage falter a little.

“ _Where have you been?_ ” The words came out as a snarl from behind Snape’s clenched jaws as he pressed the younger’s body flat against the oak door.

Harry, still held in place by the neck, grunted and tried to pry the hands off himself, “I was trying to find my way!” He glared, “It’s not like you told me where to-”  
  
“Silence!” Snape shook him a little and Harry ceased his attempts to free himself. He felt genuine fear creep into him as he watched the outraged face of his teacher.

Snape’s face inched closer, his upper lip curled, exposing sharp and deadly fangs as he grit out, “Why did you persuade Albus to let you stay the weekend?”

Harry tried to remember how to breathe as he felt his heart beat in panic. “I…-I didn’t!”

 Snape’s hand twitched and his face distorted in anger. “Liar!” Snape bared his teeth a second, and whispered with a deadly tone to his voice, “All you have ever wanted, is to make my life miserable, you insolent little-”

 “I said I didn’t! Dumbledore sent me a letter this morning!” Harry felt dizzy, he couldn’t breathe properly, but at least his words had made an impact on the vampire.

Snape moved away half an inch, loosening his grip a little bit, his black eyes unyieldingly staring at Harry. “Let me see it.”  
  
Harry silently thanked Merlin he hadn’t thrown the stupid paper away as he fumbled in his pockets and pulled out a small, crumpled, piece of parchment. Snape let go of his throat and grabbed the note as Harry coughed and tried to breathe normally.

Unfurling the letter, Snape groaned as he saw the signature green ink and the spidery writing. No doubt about it. Albus _bloody_ Dumbledore had tricked him into doing something he didn’t want. Again.

Defeated, he let out a deep sigh. “Potter…You may leave.”  
  
Harry stared; dumbfounded at the greasy bastard, well of course he wanted to leave! But he couldn’t…Hermione had told him all those stories, about vampires going berserk when they were denied their mate’s blood for too long, that he couldn’t risk taking any chances. No matter how much he wanted to leave. “…no. I can’t leave. I promised the Headmaster to do this so no one else would get hurt.”  
  
Snape delivered his best glare towards the boy, but it didn’t work. Harry still didn’t move. “Bloody Gryffindors and their foolish courage,” he muttered, crushing the parchment in his fist before he promptly threw it into the flames of the fireplace with a silent curse on his lips.

 

He walked over to his armchair, sat down heavily in it, closed his eyes a second and tried to ignore the delicious scent from the student, his heartbeat and the hunger that gnawed at his insides. He could feel his teeth reacting to all three of them. But the scent itself…it made him feel warm inside and a sudden lust to touch whoever it was with such a blissful smell suddenly rose within him with a need too much to ignore.

Opening his eyes once more, unaware of his predatory look, he stared at the student in front of him. Oh, he would happily drink his blood. But, a nibbling thought of dread lingered in the back of his mind…This was Potter, the Golden Boy. He mustn’t lose himself and drain him dry. He would need to drink in controlled circumstances where he could still remain civilised. He mentally cringed as he realized exactly what that meant. Blood from a cold goblet and not from a warm, pulsing vein.

 

Harry was still standing, lingering a few feet away from the door, unsure of what to do, and he wanted to do anything that might calm his racing heart, so he decided to ask Snape how to carry on with this whole feeding business. But before he could do so, he noticed that Snape stared at him, a strange and intensive look on his face. “Um…Professor?”

With lips tightly pressed together to cover his sharp fangs, he managed to mutter out, “I am _not_ going to bite you.”

Harry seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, “You’re not?”  
  
Snape rose from the chair, strode over to a small cabinet where Harry supposed Snape kept his liquor and watched as two items were placed on the coffee table in front of the large couch, next to the lit fireplace. A goblet and a thin, gleaming silver knife. Snape turned his attention towards Potter and held out his hand.

“Give me your arm.”

Harry flinched and took an unsure step backwards. “W-what?”  
  
Snape’s expression had returned to its usual façade, “If you are so eager to abide by the Headmaster’s every whim, I suggest you do as I tell you to.” He sneered and continued slowly, “To avoid any _unnecessary harm_ , of course.”

Harry gritted his teeth and bit back the sour words that threatened to escape his mouth. Instead, he approached the vampire and stopped right next to him, defiantly extending his arm.  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. Harry glared at him. Then Snape did something that made Harry freeze on the spot. He grabbed the arm Harry had extended, yanked him towards himself and inhaled a deep breath through his beaked nose by Potter’s throat, close to his left ear. Neither of them moved. Snape both heard and seemed to almost feel how Potter’s heart started to beat faster. Exhaling, he allowed his breath to tickle the young man’s neck. Harry felt an involuntary shiver escape his control.

Taking advantage of the situation, Snape kept his vice-like grip on Harry’s wrist and nudged him towards the edge of the couch, forcing him to sit or fall over. Choosing the former, Harry sank into the soft, deep emerald cushions with silver embroidery as Snape loomed above him. The scenery only lasted a heartbeat, because soon Snape had seated himself very close to his mate. The silver knife gleamed in his free hand.  
  
“Would you like to do it yourself, or will I have the honour?” Snape held the knife between them, giving Harry the option to choose for himself.

Harry felt as if he’d been submerged under water. Everything sounded distant and looked weird. Everything seemed to be so unreal. He blinked when he realized Snape had asked him a question, “Um…no, you do it.”  
  
Snape laid the knife in his lap and reached for the goblet. “Very well. Hold the goblet for me then.”

Confused, Harry looked up from the gleaming knife that had captured his gaze. “What?”  
  
Another eyebrow raise. “The goblet. To collect your blood.”

“Oh… Yes.” Harry hesitantly took the cup and was about to ask where to hold it, when he felt a sharp pain in his wrist. Snape had already sliced him open and he hurried to hold the goblet by the wound.

The vampire still held onto his hand, mouth slightly open, staring with a longing desire as the slow trickle of blood made its way into the cup. Harry felt extremely uncomfortable and tried to ignore the whole bizarre experience. When Snape whipped out his wand, Harry’s first thought was that he was going to be hexed, but Snape pointed it to his arm and the wound stopped bleeding, healing slowly as Harry stared at his own arm.

Snape released his grip on his mate’s arm and glanced at the cup. Harry understood and handed his professor the goblet.

The vampire licked his lips in anticipation. Finally, he was taking what was rightfully his, and his alone. When the first small sip had breached his lips, Snape almost groaned. The blood from his mate tasted as divine as it smelled, but the goblet was small and emptied far too soon. And it had made the blood grow cold, as he knew it would. He wanted it warm, hot and pulsing, directly from the throat. He swallowed the last small drop and sighed.  
  
Harry stared at his teacher as he quickly emptied the cup before his eyes. He didn’t know if he should say something, or if he should just ignore the whole ordeal. He swallowed thickly as Snape silently reached for his arm again, grabbed it tightly and looked as if he wanted to literally gnaw it off with his abnormal teeth.

“You….um, do you want more?”  
  
Snape’s black eyes shot up to glare at him, “I will always want more, that is part of this curse. I will never be fully sated.” He let go of Harry’s arm with a slight look of self-disgust plastered across his face.

“Oh. Er…sorry.” Harry awkwardly offered his arm to Snape again, thinking that they would continue from where they left off.

But Snape stared at him, that same strange, intense look he had had earlier. Then he stood up from the couch, walked away to a nearby door, opened it and disappeared inside, leaving Harry on the couch, rather relieved. Not for too long, it turned out, as Snape returned almost immediately, carrying two small bottles of some kind of liquid.

The potions Master stopped in front of the couch, offered one of the bottles to Harry, who took it warily as Snape removed the cork from his own bottle and emptied it in a heartbeat. Encouraged by the act, Harry uncorked his own bottle, took a small sniff at the contents, shrugged and then he drank it all up. If he had kept his eyes open, he might have seen the quick flash of glee in Snape’s black eyes as the vial went ‘bottoms-up’.

Harry blinked, licked his lips and tried to ignore the foul taste lingering in his mouth as he placed the empty bottle on the coffee table and simply asked, “What kind of potion was that?”

Snape suddenly looked as if he had received the world’s largest collection of rare old potions books. He almost smiled as he replied, “I was not aware that you would blindly gulp anything down that I hand you.”

Harry’s weak smile turned even weaker.

Sneering, Snape kept talking, “What if I had wanted to poison you?” Noticing the alarmed look on Harry’s face, he added, “Don’t be silly, boy, I don’t want to murder you.” He paused, then replied, “But don’t tempt me.”

Blinking again, Harry demanded, “What did I just drink? Tell me!”

Snape looked rather smug, “Merely a light Blood Replenisher.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and sank back into the couch, visibly relaxed, but then Snape went on, “Mixed together with a small dose of Dreamless Sleep…along with a few herbs to keep you asleep-”

Harry’s eyes shot open. “What?!”

Snape’s eyes glittered as he walked around the room, returning the now magically cleaned goblet and silver knife to their rightful places, all the while Harry felt his limbs grow more and more heavy by the minute. “Why? What are you going to do?”

Snape stopped his ministrations and turned to look at Potter. “What I am going to do?” He smirked, “Oh, I am going to relax and read for a while.” He raised an eyebrow and continued, “I didn’t know you _cared_ , Potter.”

Harry’s temper reached a boiling point, “Of course I care when you’ve bloody poisoned me!”  
  
Snape leaned casually against one of his bookshelves, silently watching Potter struggling against the effects of the magical herbs. “Now, now, Potter…I haven’t poisoned you.” He sighed, as if being burdened with the world’s largest chore, “I need to _think_ , Potter, if you are even aware of what that word means.”

 

Harry glared viciously at him and spat, “Listen up, you bastard! I only let you drink my blood because Dumbledore begged me to, but now, for all I care, you might as well starve to death because you sure as hell aren’t going to come near me ever again! _Go to hell_ , you perverted old bastard!”

Snape’s nostrils flared in sudden anger and he took two quick steps towards the flushed student and roared, “I cannot have you blabbering on about inane nonsense when I am quite busy _with stopping myself from ripping your bloody throat out_!”

 

Harry stared at his teacher; the greasy hair hanging lank around his face, the inhuman look in his eyes. Harry gulped when he realized the kind of situation he was in. The potion was tugging his mind into unconsciousness, but he was, quite honestly, scared to death to fall asleep in the presence of a pissed off and apparently insatiable vampire who wanted nothing else than to suck him dry.

Huffing, Snape turned his back to Potter, grabbed a book from the shelf and stormed off into what Harry presumed was the man’s bedroom. Breathing a silent breath of relief, Harry was unable to resist the potion and he fell asleep, sprawled out on the couch.

 

Snape was pacing furiously around in his bedroom. He had closed the door, but he could still catch that wonderful scent of Potter’s blood. Cursing, he tapped the book he held in his hands with his long fingers. It was a muggle book, one he had read before. Scowling at the book, he threw it forcefully into the wall, cracking the spine of the book with a loud noise. He slowed down as his temper gradually returned to normal. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself further. The potion should start working any moment now; if he could just…

He abruptly stopped pacing as he released a relaxed sigh when he finally felt the effects of the potion working to calm his hunger. He could still smell the scent from Potter coming from the other side of the door, but now he didn’t feel the need to attack him, to tear flesh and drink until there was nothing left. Now, it was simply an enjoyable scent that made him feel calm.

He felt an urge to be closer to the source of the scent, but he refused to acknowledge that urge. He hated Potter to the bottom of his heart. He did, didn’t he? Snape opened his eyes slowly as realization hit him like a sledgehammer. How could he possibly hate that delicious scent? He sank down heavily on the edge of his large bed. As he thought things through, he might not hate Potter’s blood, but that did not change the way he thought of the boy. He still saw him as an annoying miniature James Potter, who wanted nothing other then everyone’s attention at all times.

Still deep in his thoughts, he rose from the bed, opened the door and approached the couch where the boy lay, fast asleep. Snape stared down at him. He absentmindedly licked his lips.

He couldn’t move his eyes away from his mate. “Yes, that’s exactly what you are…” Snape whispered, “ _My mate_.” He kneeled before the couch, leaned over the sleeping form and he closed his eyes as he took a deep breath that made him feel light-headed with the heady scent. “ _Mine and mine alone_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, what in the world is going on? 
> 
> Let me know what you think~
> 
> Bye for now :)


	6. I want to Get Inside Your Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potter finds himself at the mercy of a famished potions Master.   
> Snape is wondering whether Potter will notice if he just takes a tiiiny peek inside Potter's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 308 Words/8 Pages
> 
> Hope you'll like it~

When Harry stirred, the morning after, he found himself covered in warmth in a soft, large bed. His head hurt and when he opened his eyes a split second, the darkness in the room felt far too bright to his sensitive eyes. Groaning, he closed his eyes and tried not to think or move. He absently rubbed a hand over his face, fingers touching his glasses. Had he forgotten to take them off? He slid them off and intended to place them on the night-stand beside his four poster bed, and became quite confused when his right hand couldn’t find the table. Only more of that soft, warm bed. Strange, Harry thought and lazily put his glasses back on.

 

His sluggish brain worked overtime until it finally reminded him of the previous night’s events and Harry stiffened slightly where he lay. He was in Snape’s rooms. Because Snape was a vampire who had tried to kill him and now was bonded to him. _What a mess_ , Harry thought.

 

As he stared unseeingly up at the ceiling, several things became quite clear in his tired brain. He wasn’t on the couch where he fell asleep, so Snape must have carried (levitated?) him here, into what he assumed was Snape’s own bedroom. Placed him in his own bed…as Harry was thinking he realized that it was warm, yes, but that thing half-covering him was definitively _not_ a blanket. His fears were confirmed when the thing on top of him grunted and slapped an arm across Harry’s middle, squeezing him closer in the exact moment Harry realized what it was.

 

“GET OFF!” Harry yelled and started to struggle, worming his way out from beneath the older man, despite his maddening headache that grew worse by his ministrations.

 

Snape’s grip only tightened, and a silky smooth voice close to his left ear whispered, “I would advise you not to move.”

 

Harry felt out of breath and pressed his palms against the other man’s shoulders, “Get _off_ me you bloody-”

 

Snape’s lethally sharp teeth gently grazed the thin skin hiding the pulsing jugular on Harry’s throat. “Don’t. Move.”

 

Harry dropped his arms to his sides. He swallowed hard. Snape was going to kill him, he knew it. As the thought took hold of his mind, he started breathing frantically, it seemed his lungs couldn’t absorb the oxygen he was drawing into them and he realized he was panicking.

 

Snape noticed and hugged his mate closer, to calm the frightened boy. Because he felt the fear in Harry’s head. Convenient little thing, that. As a bonded vampire, he knew exactly what Potter was feeling at all times, if he so wished to find out. A little peeking never hurt anyone. Might even be easier to understand how the bloody Gryffindors reasoned when they rushed headfirst into danger. Not that Harry would do that. Not as long as Snape had anything to say about it. Simply because Harry -no, _Potter,_ was his mate. No other reason than that.

 

After a while, when Snape hadn’t moved at all, the teeth retracted, but the lips still resting against his skin, Harry realized Snape wasn’t going to hurt him. At least not now, but… ‘ _Why on earth is he in bed with me_?’ Harry thought, confused.

 

Snape listened in on his mate’s thoughts. Now, why on earth _was_ he laying beside the boy in the first place? That question had a very simple answer; it was easier to smell him the closer he was. He whispered that small piece of information in Potter’s ear. The reaction he got was less than satisfactory. Potter screwed his eyes shut, shivered and tried to sink deeper into the mattress, away from him. Oh well.

 

Now, thanks to the potion he had ingested after the (rather small) sip of Potter’s blood, he now felt satisfied with Potter’s scent alone. At least for the moment. He closed his eyes again and sighed as he enjoyed the scent and listened. Potter’s heartbeats were calming down a little. ‘ _Good_ ,’ Snape thought to himself.

 

“W-why are you…what are you doing?” Harry’s words came out more laced with fear than he would have wanted when he felt Snape’s large nose suddenly rub against the skin below his left ear.

 

Snape did not reply for a long moment. Then he raised himself off Potter on his elbows, staring right at the younger beneath him. “Potter,” he began in a low voice, “-I was…” he cleared his throat and started again, “…As a fairly new vampire, the odds for me murdering my first mate are awfully high. If it were any other vampire than me, you would have been dead already.” He was silent a moment and he heard Potter swallow loudly. “I have an iron grip on my self control, or so I thought I had. _You_ , Potter, your blood tempts me beyond anything I have ever some across.”   


Harry stared up at his Potions Master and whispered, “Why did you want me to be unconscious?”

 

Snape looked at him a moment, then he said, “Because your heart beats slower when you sleep.”   


Harry shuddered. “So, you basically started to lose control and you drugged me so you wouldn’t kill me?”   


Snape nodded. It was accurate enough. No need to tell the boy he had actually enjoyed watching him sleep. Wait, he hadn’t, had he? But then, why else had he been seated next to the unconscious boy for several hours until finally plucking him up and tucking him into bed? _His_ bed, of all places! Snape mentally cursed at himself for committing such a thing.   


“Why did you suddenly decide to…” Harry trailed off and gestured weakly with a hand in between their chests.   


The Potions Master settled for yet another half-truth, “My instincts told me I needed to be sure of your safety.” Snape paused a moment, then he went on, “I believe these instincts will become even worse soon.”   
  
Harry nodded and replied, “The dark period.”   
  
“Yes.” Snape agreed. “I have been doing some research and I have found a potion that will reduce my hunger and-”   
  
Harry cut him off, “Brew it!” Snape’s glare made him realize his mistake, “Um…I-I mean-”

 

Snape placed a long, pale finger across Potter’s lips to silence him. “Use that brain of yours. How do you think I’m coping now? Being close to you, being wrapped up in your scent, why am I still calm? _Why am I still calm?_ ”

 

Harry stared as Snape withdrew his hand, allowing him to speak. He very much wanted to say that Snape looked anything but calm and that it was all very un-Snape-ish of him that he was a mere two inches from Harry’s face. But of course he didn’t say that. He tried something that might make sense in this crazy situation. “You…you drank my blood?”

 

“No! I said you should _use_ your brain! Doesn’t being friends with an insufferable know-it-all rub off on you?” Snape glowered at the boy, “Besides, that was far too little blood to keep me sustained for long.” Realizing he had been sidetracked, he took a deep breath and continued, “I drank that potion last night, right in front of you. It worked, _obviously_ , or you wouldn’t have woken up.”

 

“Wh-what do you mean?”

 

“Because, you imbecile-” Snape snarled, “I would have sucked you dry on the spot!”

 

“B-but it’s not even October yet! How can you be that hungr-”

 

“ _Because I’m a vampire_!” Snape’s words echoed in the dungeon room, filling Harry with cold dread.

 

Snape screwed his eyes shut as he continued, “I haven’t yet learnt how to properly control myself, and it’s hard to stop drinking when I’ve started, that’s why I insisted on the goblet and the knife, but it cools the blood, making it so revolting I don’t want to drink it at all!”

 

Harry stared at a man he had known and hated for so long, and now, that man was doing his best to suppress his fairly new natural urges so that he wouldn’t become a murderer. Harry’s right hand seemed to rise on its own, for suddenly, he was stroking his teacher’s greasy hair, as if he was trying to calm him down, or even soothe him.

 

Snape looked up, confused, and then he batted the hand away. “Stop that.” He snarled.

 

Harry looked away, “I’m sorry.”

 

“For what?” Snape snapped.

 

“I don’t want to be eaten, alright? You’re a predator and I’m your walking snack to take a bite from whenever you feel like it.”

 

“Listen to me, _Potter_ , I did not wish for any of this to happen, least of all my transformation!”

 

Harry returned his gaze to the older man, looking rather puzzled. “What?”

 

Snape glared at him, “You can’t _possibly_ have imagined that-” Realization struck his mind and it briefly showed across his face as a mild shock, “… _oh_ …oh, of course you did.” Suddenly, all anger seemed to evaporate from the vampire. He shuffled away from Harry and turned his back on the boy. “Of course you’d think that,” he muttered in a bitter voice, more to himself than to Harry.   
  
“What? What did I think?” Harry sat up, now that he was freed from Snape’s large body hovering above him and frowned, “You weren’t _actually_ reading my mind just now, were you?”   
  
Silence.

 

“Snape.”

  
“No. I did _not_ read your mind. I don’t have to.”

 

For not being the first time, and certainly not the last, Harry felt utterly lost in the way Snape was thinking, “Then what _do_ you mean?”

 

“You truly think that I would choose this life? That I would throw my humanity out the window in exchange for ‘eternal’ life, which is, to all intents and purposes, a curse?”

 

“…well…you’re a Slytherin?”

 

“Yes,” Snape rasped, “-and that has absolutely nothing to do with my current state.” Snape curled his upper lip into a snarl and turned to watch the idiotic boy. “And now, _if it’s not too much to ask_ , I would like a drink.”

 

Harry felt his stomach churn and a chill ran down his spine as he stammered, “Um, what? _Now_?”

 

Snape sneered at the boy, “No, next week. Of course I want it now!”

 

“Uh, okay, sorr-”

 

“ _Stop saying you are sorry_!”

 

Harry sighed. “Listen, I get that you didn’t want any of this, but…how did it happen to you? Why were you turned? I mean, why would anyone even want to do this to you-”

 

“WHO DO YOU THINK?!” Snape flew up from the bed, face wrenched together in fury as he screamed, “WHO IS THE ONE AND ONLY PERSON WHO HAS MY LIFE IN HIS HANDS?!” Harry didn’t dare reply; he slowly crawled up to the headboard and stared as Snape took a deep breath and started again, “THE DARK LORD!”

 

Spit flew across the room as the vampire spat out the words in disgust. Harry had pressed himself flat against the headboard, Snape was blocking the exit and he really tried his best to remain calm when the Potions Master approached him, face flushed in anger, hissing out his next sentence between clenched teeth.

 

“He turned me as a punishment for arriving late at the celebration of his rebirth.” Snape crawled on top of the bed once more, his face mere inches from Harry’s, “On the eve that should have been the eve of your death, he wanted to have some kind of entertainment when you escaped his grasp,” Snape paused, seemingly gathering his thoughts and then he whispered, “He saw it fit to damn me to eternal suffering only because I was late to witness what should have been your death, Potter.” Snape was staring down at the boy trapped between his potion teacher’s arms and the solid wall behind his back. “I won’t hurt you,” he whispered.

 

Harry hadn’t averted his gaze once out of fear, but now he blinked and nodded, “I’m sorry, Sir.”

 

They didn’t move for a while, not until Snape closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and said, in a fairly composed voice, “Potter, how about that drink now?”

 

Harry felt his heart leap up into his throat. “I-I…shouldn’t-…shouldn’t we go and get the knife-” he trailed off when Snape slowly moved even closer to him, licking his lips, his black eyes once more solely focused on the throat, hiding the beating pulse of Potter’s frightened, fluttering heart.

 

Snape muttered softly into Potter’s ear as he leant down, “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt this time.” He lowered his voice further, “I’ll be careful.”

 

Harry realized he had two choices, one, listen to Hermione’s advice and remain calm, two, listen to his instincts and run for his life. When he felt Snape’s hot breath close in on his throat, he panicked, ducked under Snape’s arms, rolled off the bed and ran for the door. He was out of the bedroom in record time, reaching for the door, but found himself trapped when Snape caught up with him faster than humanly possible.

 

Snape tackled him hard into the dungeon wall, trapping the boy between his own body and the cold wall again. “Don’t run,” he snarled, “-you’ll make me attack you and you will not survive that. I’m only hungry, so stay calm.”

 

Harry was shaking. Damn all Gryffindor courage to hell, when you are faced with a blood-thirsty vampire attacking you, it doesn’t matter what House you’re in, you’d still be scared half to death.

 

After a moment, Snape muttered between clenched teeth, “It seems we end up like this a lot.”

 

Harry released a shaky breath, “Yeah.” He swallowed thickly, “Not really my fault.”

 

The Potions Master leaned his head against the cold stones and sighed, “Potter, calm down. I won’t hurt my mate.”

 

Harry cleared his throat, “Um, yeah well, you say that, but you’ve already nearly killed me once, remember?”

 

Snape was silent a moment. “Yes, but I’ve grown more accustomed to your scent now.”

 

Harry raised an eyebrow in disbelief, “Really?”

 

A pause, then a sigh, “No.”

 

“Professor, let me go.”

 

Snape didn’t move.

 

“Sir? You can’t feed from me against my will, so stop this right now.”

 

“Oh, really? I believe I have already done so, as you mentioned mere moments ago…”

 

“Snape!”

 

“Stop. Shouting.” The vampire bowed his head so they could make eye-contact. “I am doing my best. Don’t move, don’t say a word and, most importantly, _don’t struggle_.”

 

“B-but Sir!”

 

“Do as I say!”

 

Harry swallowed hard, gave one final glare to the older man keeping him trapped, closed his eyes and did his best to stay relaxed. He silently damned Dumbledore for convincing him this was a good idea. Just how the hell was he supposed to survive six months with a Snape that would be even more unstable than now? Thinking made his headache even worse. The cold unforgiving stone in the dungeon wall was digging into his back. He felt exposed.

 

While he was thinking, he failed to detect that Snape had withdrawn from him and he only noticed it when he heard a clinking noise and he peeked an eye open to see what was going on.

 

His teacher was seated in the same armchair as before, only now, he was obviously trying to find something in a rather large, old book he had in his lap. He held another empty vial in his free hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but remembered what he’d been told and kept silent. He didn’t move, he only observed.

 

What he saw made him feel a little better, because suddenly Snape looked up at him and said, “I knew I had read it somewhere.” He patted the book and pointed to a yellowed page before he started reading out loud,

 

“‘- _the first few times a vampire and its mate interacts with each other, there might be severe reactions resulting in the sudden, unintentional death of the mate. These situations can be avoided if the mate understands that struggling, or in any way provoking the vampire, can result in the mate’s demise. A vampire who is able to step away from its mate after being provoked, sometimes referred to as ‘triggered’, is held in deepest respect by others of its kin_.’”

 

“What…what does ‘triggered’ mean?”

 

“You made me angry. According to this, if I did not have such good self-control, I would have snapped and killed you then and there.” He returned to reading the rest of the page, snorting slightly at the supposed lack of control other vampires were said to be experiencing even after their third and fourth mates. No need to tell Potter that part.

 

Harry still looked confused, “But, why are you reacting like this? It’s still time left until The Dark Period begins…”

“Yes…but you must remember, you are my very first mate. You are most likely going to be killed by me if we aren’t careful, especially if I don’t spend enough time before October becoming more accustomed to your scent.”

 

“That’s rubbish, isn’t it? Is _this_ the reason Dumbledore wanted us ‘to get used to each other’? To push the both of us together for a limited time in a small space, in order to trigger your vampire instincts into harming me now, instead of later, when you might actually kill me?”

 

Snape sighed, “It sure does seem like that, yes.” Snape looked up at him and smirked, “I see you’re using your brain now.”

 

Harry did not answer.

 

“I feel better now,” Snape mused, “I feel much calmer.” He swallowed the final drop left in the vial and banished it with a flick of his ebony wand before closed the book and placed it heavily on the coffee table. Then he turned to Harry again, “I suppose you’re hungry, anything in particular you would like for breakfast?” He glanced at the large longcase clock and went on, “Or, considering the time, lunch?”

 

Harry shook his head, “No food.”   
  
Snape raised an eyebrow, “Why? Aren’t you feeling well?”   
  
Shrugging, Harry made his way towards the couch and sank down on it. “I’ve still got a headache.”

 

“You never mentioned you had a headache.” Snape stared at the younger man on his couch as he folded his arms across his chest slowly. “Would you like a potion?” Potter’s green eyes met his and he seemed to think hard about what to answer. Snape itched to venture inside Potter’s brain again, just to hear his internal arguments, but the boy might notice him probing. Better not push one’s luck.

 

Harry sighed with resignation, “Yes, thank you. Just don’t give me anything that makes me fall asleep.”

 

Snape smirked at the boy before he left the room to saunter off to his private potions lab, hidden behind the bookcase in his bedroom, concealed and protected with a password.

 

As he plucked the correct vial off the shelf, he couldn’t help but to be curious about the strange comment about not wanting to fall asleep. Was it simply because he wasn’t tired right now, or did it have a deeper meaning? Still deep in thought, Snape suddenly stopped with his hand on the doorknob of his bedroom. Did the boy have nightmares of the Dark Lord’s resurrection? He couldn’t know, could he? Unless…Pushing the door open, he had made up his mind. Next time Potter fell asleep in his company, he’d take a look. A small peek and he’d know for sure.

 

Snape merely observed as Potter looked suspiciously at the vial, sniffing it slightly before he swallowed it down. He couldn’t quite believe that Potter would actually drink anything he’d give to him again. Potter was either stupid or he must have a really nasty headache. Correction. Potter _is_ stupid. Snape sighed heavily. He could feel a headache creeping up on himself now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think? Pretty-please? 
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter will feature letters from friends, Torture-By-Quill and more~   
> (Not yet written a word, can't promise a specific update-date)


	7. A depressed Snape and a 'pinned-to-the-plush-armchair' Potter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Golden Trio are busy with homework and covered in Dragon Dung up to their elbows...  
> So it's not really a surprise if Harry 'forgets' his appointment with a certain cranky (vampire) professor, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slow updates on this fic. I really have no excuse other than laziness. 
> 
> Maybe difficulties to write due to the heartbreaking fact that NBC's Hannibal was cancelled and now has run its final episode? Yes. I'll use that as a scapegoat. *sobs*
> 
> Now, my fellow Snarry-fans, here you are.

 

_Monday, September 15 th _

 

Harry was hurrying his way back up through the winding staircases and almost-hidden passageways, trying to get to the Great Hall before breakfast was over.

 

It was Monday morning, his hair stood on end and he still tried to make an acceptable knot on his tie when he finally burst through the two large doors. He had thought that everyone would stare at him, would whisper behind his back, but almost no one turned to look his way.

 

He gave up on the tie and waved at Ron and Hermione where they sat on their usual spot. His bum hadn’t even hit the bench before Ron stared, wide-eyed and whispered, “Harry, _what the bloody hell_?”

 

Harry frowned, “What?”

 

Hermione sighed at his stupidity. “Harry. You are gone all weekend and when you finally return, you’re so late you almost missed breakfast, you look like a ghost _and_ you’re trying to act as if nothing has happened.”

 

Harry ignored them, piling his plate with toast and covered them generously with marmalade, scooping up liberal amounts of bacon and sausages too, until Hermione’s prompting voice stopped him, “ _Harry_.”  


He dropped his half eaten toast back on his plate, turned to his two best friends and took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you much, because nothing much happened.”

 

Ron looked disbelieving and Hermione pursed her lips in an impressively thin line, much like Professor McGonagall would do every time Ron transformed a bat into a dishtowel.

 

Harry sighed. “Alright. He drank my blood-” Hermione interrupted him with a gasp, “-from a _goblet_ , no biting.”

 

She looked a little relieved at that so Harry continued, “We talked. About being a vampire versus being a vampire’s food.”

 

Ron gave him a lopsided grin, “Right, so when can you get rid of that old Git?”

 

Harry grimaced, “You know it’s for life, Ron.” Realization hit his ginger friend like a brick wall in the face at King’s Cross. “Anyway,” Harry cleared his voice a little, “-he wasn’t completely awful about it, he said we’d be able to continue as usual-”

 

Ron broke him off with a squeaky whisper, “ _For life_?”

 

Harry glared at him, “Yes, Ron, for life. We’ve already talked about this, remember? Now I want to eat, we’ll talk more later.” He reached for his plate and it vanished into thin air. He groaned.

 

\----

 

Snape was pacing in circles in his living room, trying to gather his thoughts. He felt strange, somehow. A kind of hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Potter had left so abruptly, declining his offer to share breakfast too quickly in his opinion. Almost rude, in fact. And then his next thought haunted him, why had he asked Potter to share a meal with him in the first place? Stupid. Idiotic. Potter.

 

Glancing at the large clock in the corner, he placed a suitable scowl across his features and stormed out into the dark corridor, leaving students from three houses looking horrified at his appearance and the rest, merely smirking knowingly. His snakes knew him well. The renowned dungeon-bat was in a foul mood indeed.

 

Her red hair bounced as she ran alongside Ron and Harry, “Have you got all your books?”

With annoyed, slightly breathless voices they both said, “Yeees.”

They finally stopped; hovering with the rest of the class outside the thick door leading to the transfiguration classroom after the long sprint from the top of the Gryffindor tower after Ron had forgotten his books two times.

 

They hadn’t been still for more than two seconds before Hermione started fussing with Harry’s tie, “Oh, look at that tie, let me re-do it for you.”

Groaning, Harry squirmed out of her grasp, “Mione, _stop_. I can do it myself, I just don’t care.” Her argument died on her tongue, as Professor McGonagall arrived at the door, letting them inside.

 

\----

 

Snape was staring at the parchment in front of him. He had had a strange feeling in his gut for quite some time now. As if he was irritated, but he somehow knew it wasn’t his own feeling. He slowly dipped the point of his black quill in the pot of emerald green and brought it up to his eyes. He studied the shimmering ink thoughtfully. It was remarkable, really, how green Potter’s eyes were. He flinched at the thought, wiped off the green ink and proceeded to dip the point into the scarlet red and scrawled a big, angry ‘P’ on Ronald Weasley’s horrible excuse of an essay.

 

\----

 

Covered in mud and smelly dragon dung, Harry, Ron and Hermione slowly made their way up to the castle after an exhausting double lesson in Herbology. Harry knew he had a ton of homework to do as soon as he’d washed off all this…this…whatever it was his arms were covered in. The moving staircases behaved for once, as if they were sensing the trio’s mood as they made their way to the Gryffindor tower. After a well needed wash up, Harry collapsed into the comfy red armchair in front of the fire. He had almost fallen asleep when Hermione dumped what felt like a ton of books into his lap.

 

“Come on Harry, you need to finish your transfiguration essay, we need to hand it in _tomorrow_!”

 

Harry groaned as an answer and opened the book in his lap. He skimmed through the pages a moment, then he said, “Um…Mione? What was it again we were supposed to write about?”  
  
Hermione looked up from her six-foot essay and raised her eyebrows. “Animagi, Harry.”

 

“Oh, right. Okay.” He moved the book aside and pulled out some parchment and a quill as Ron came stumbling into the, save for his two friends, empty common-room. Hermione looked up again and choked down a half-giggle at Ron’s red-scrubbed face and hands.

 

“What?” Ron said, annoyed at their amused faces, as he plopped down in the third vacant armchair next to his friends.  
  
Hermione blushed a little, “You’ve got…a little, um something…on your cheek.”

 

Ron raised his hand to the opposite cheek and looked confused. Hermione pulled out a napkin and leaned over the armrest to reach the brown smudge of Dragon’s shite Ron had smeared across his face and astonishingly missed after scrubbing half his face raw.  
  
Harry smiled at the scene and threw a glance at the clock in the corner of the room. He had the strangest feeling that he’d forgotten something very important, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

 

A low, scratching noise reached their ears. Harry looked up and saw Hedwig perched on the windowsill. He pushed his hardly started essay off his lap and rose to open the window to let her inside. She made a soft noise and pinched his arm lovingly when he closed the window behind her. She was carrying yet another letter tied to her foot. Harry took the small roll and she flew off with a mute hoot to sit atop the grandfather clock in the corner. Harry returned to his seat where Ron and Hermione sat, staring at their essays more concentrated than ever. Unfurling the letter, he saw who it was from. “It’s from Snuffles!” Harry’s face broke up into a grin and he started to read out loud to his friends;  
  
_Dear Harry,_  
  


_I hope you are doing well in your new school year. I know you’ve only just started, but when is the next Hogsmeade visit? Things here are as boring as ever. If it weren’t for Moony, I would have perished already._

 

Ron frowned, “That’s it?”  
Harry turned the letter over and said, “No, there’s something written here, too.” Harry read the few words, obviously penned by another hand than Sirius;

 

_Harry, I believe Snuffles is as dramatic as ever. We are doing just fine here, please don’t worry._

 

Ron returned to his essay and said, “Sounds like Professor Lupin tries to keep him company in that creepy house at least.”

 

Harry hummed in agreement and scribbled down a short answer along with the correct date for the Hogsmeade visit. Hermione looked on, lost in thoughts as Harry tied the new message to Hedwig’s leg and sent her off into the dark, rainy evening.

 

Hermione stared at the clock again, “Harry…?”  


“Yeah?”

 

“Weren’t you supposed to meet up with Prof-”  
  
His face fell and almost turned into an expression similar to nausea, “Oh no. No, no, _noo_..!” Harry threw himself at his bag to search for his notes and parchments, trying to find the schedule Dumbledore had written. When he found it, his heart sank in his chest. _Monday Sept. 15 th_, it read, _half past eight_. It was almost nine o’clock now. “I have to go. He’s probably going to kill me, so no need to stay up late and wait for me.”  


Ron and Hermione gave him a half-hearted smile each. Ron smirked at him, “Maybe he’ll let you finish some of your homework as a punishment?”

 

Harry gave him a mirthless laugh as he grabbed his bag and stuffed it with his half written essay, quill, ink and his books. He hurried towards the Fat Lady’s portrait but stopped and quickly turned and bid his friends goodnight before he left the common room to head down the cold and damp dungeons.

 

\---

 

Snape was seated at his desk. He had a small stack of unmarked papers, but he didn’t want to mark them all with red, as usual. As a matter of fact, he felt rather tired and hungry. He wasn’t even the slightest bit angry that Potter was late.

 

As if it would be possible to teach that imbecile to arrive when he was supposed to. No, no. Saint Potter could come and go as he pleased, no matter what the rules or regulations were.

 

Snape released a small sigh. He was so _hungry_. He fished out his pocket watch and stared as the seconds ticked past. Potter was really late indeed. He hoped that nothing had happened to that trouble-absorbing dimwit. His nose twitched at an achingly familiar scent. A scent he had spent a whole night next to. Potter. _Finally_.  
  
Harry knocked on the thick wooden door with his heart in his throat. On the other side, Snape rose slowly from his chair and approached the door. When Harry raised his hand again to knock, the door swung open and he stood there in mild shock of what he saw. Snape looked terrible. Even worse than usual. His face was paler than it had been when he’d left this morning and _somehow_ , if it was even possible, his hair looked even greasier.  
  
“Potter?” Snape raised an eyebrow, “Are you going to stand there gawking all evening, or are you coming inside?”  
  
Harry didn’t answer; he looked down on the floor and shuffled past his teacher into the large living room.

 

As Snape closed the door, Harry carefully asked, “Um, Sir? Are you okay? You look a little…off?”

 

Snape ignored him and Harry was left standing in the middle of the room, quite unsure what to do. The potions Master sank down in the comfy-looking armchair in front of the crackling fireplace.

 

After a long minute of silent disregard, Snape finally spoke to him. “Potter, come here. Sit by the fire with me.”

 

Harry stared at him a moment before he swallowed thickly and slowly approached the older man.

 

Snape looked up at him and demanded in a voice that said _agree or I’ll make you do it_ , “Sit in front of me, here, on the rug.” He pointed a slender finger to the emerald green, fluffy hearthrug at his black, polished shoes.

 

Harry hesitated a brief moment, then complied. He figured it was his punishment for being late, but what the true purpose was, he had no idea. He sat down, slipped off his robe due to the warmth from the fire and placed his bag on top of it, next to him.

 

None of them spoke or moved for a while, so Harry figured he might as well get ready to do his late homework.

 

As he started to pull out his books and parchment, Snape leaned forward in his chair, looming slightly over the young man. “What are you doing?”

 

Harry flinched, but replied as polite as he could muster, “I am going to do my homework, sir.”

 

He heard Snape draw in a breath, as if he had sniffed something out in the air around them. “No. Put your books away.”

 

Harry closed his eyes and sighed, “Sir, with all due respect, I have to turn this essay in _tomorrow_ , I can’t-”

 

Snape’s voice suddenly turned icy cold, “I said, put your books away. _Now_.”

 

Harry’s shoulders slumped and he pushed the books and papers back into his bag. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and sweater and drew his knees up to his body, leaned his arms on them and stared into the fire, watching the flames lick and consume the wood. After a moment, he felt a pair of hands grabbing his shoulders and tugging him backwards, towards the small space between Snape’s legs.

 

He tried to shuffle away, but Snape grabbed his right arm and pulled it above his head, turning it, exposing the supple flesh of his wrist. “Don’t move.”

 

The words spilled from his teacher’s lips sounded more like a threat than anything he’d heard him say before. He didn’t move. He didn’t move when Snape kept his arm still and brushed his large nose across it. But he did move when Snape’s fangs made contact and bit hard into his skin.

 

He yelped out in pain and tried to move away, but Snape only wrapped his long legs around Potter’s middle, effectively trapping him between the chair and the potions master himself. Harry turned slightly to his side in the leg lock in a desperate attempt to alleviate the pain in his arm, both for being gnawed at and being bent in a strange angle.

 

As soon as Harry stopped moving, Snape relaxed his grip on Potter and withdrew his sharp teeth from the wound he had made on the younger. He held the wrist delicately with both his hands as his lips sealed closed around the leaking wound and he started to suck in earnest.

 

Aside from the small gasps from Potter and the quiet swallowing noises from Snape, the room was silent. After a while, Snape started to drag his tongue across the bite, healing it up so it wouldn’t leave a scar.

 

When Harry’s arm was returned to him, it was glistening wet with vampire saliva where the bite mark had been and he could swear he had heard Snape let out a content sigh. Harry was a bit shaken, they had agreed to a no-biting policy, but here he was, cradling a sore arm in his lap whilst feeling rather light-headed. Snape, on the other hand, looked much healthier than earlier.

 

Harry made a soft scoffing sound and the older man cracked an eye open to look at him. “D’you think you can let me go now?” Harry tapped a finger on one of Snape’s knees.

 

Snape narrowed his eyes, “Yes, but only if you stay where you are.”

 

Harry glared back at him with a fierce glint in his emerald eyes. “Fine.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, apologies for the sudden ending here. More explanations to how the vampire/mate-relationship works will be explored shortly. There was something fishy with the fact that Dumbledore was so happy when Harry drank Snape's blood, wasn't it? *rubs palms together*


	8. Ah, the ties and the tie...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron freaks out over Potter's tie, Snape acts weird and McGonagall is bombarded by owls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re-cap: 
> 
> Snape is being a creep, Potter tried to do some homework but is instead used for Snape's weird drinking habits.

 

After a while, sitting in front of the fire with Snape’s legs on each side of him, Harry actually relaxed. He had been given a potion to make up for his blood loss and was now busy with the finishing touches on his essays. It had surprised him, when he was stuck with describing the different ways on how to recognize an animagi, that Snape had leant over him and actually helped him.

 

Writing his name on the last essay with a pleased sigh and an aching hand, he packed away his supplies and stuffed it all into his bag. He leaned back and unconsciously rested the back of his head on Snape’s thigh, thinking it was the upholstery of the armchair. Only when Snape moved, did he realize his mistake. He flew up from his place on the floor, almost stumbled but managed to catch himself from falling over by grabbing the mantle on the fireplace.

 

He could feel his face burning when he turned around to grab his bag and tried to ignore the man sitting right in front of him. “Um, its getting late and…um I think I should go now, sir.” Snape did not reply, but he did beckon Potter closer with a pale, bony finger. Harry reluctantly took a few steps closer.

 

Snape rose from his chair and grabbed Harry’s hand, the one still bandaged and sore from the pink toad’s abuse. Harry flinched. Snape noticed the young man’s uneasiness and reached to remove the bandage. Harry tried to snatch back his hand with a grunt, but Snape’s vicelike grip didn’t yield. Slowly and carefully, Harry’s hand was exposed to the dim light of Snape’s dungeon. He glared at the almost healed wounds before he started to glare at Potter.

 

Harry uttered one word, “Umbridge.” He could almost see the sparks in Snape’s eyes glitter.

 

“What did you do, Potter?” He asked, with a hint of amusement in his slow voice.

 

Harry glared back at him, and said, “I told the truth, that Voldemort’s back.”

 

Snape narrowed his eyes at him a moment, then he lifted the exposed hand closer to his face, opened his mouth and pressed a warm, wet tongue across the wounds.

 

Watching Snape licking languidly all over his hand whilst keeping eye-contact with him made Harry almost feel his ears spontaneously catch fire. When Snape was done, even the faded scars had disappeared, only leaving a thin glistening sheen behind. Harry stared at his hand when it was released, and muttered quietly, “Um…thanks.”

 

Snape smirked lightly at him and seized the moment to grab the younger’s inexcusable mess of a tie. Untying the knot with his nimble fingers, he found that Potter was chafing less and less on his nerves. A small part of him actually confessed that the young man wasn’t that annoying after all. With a thoughtful hum, he finished off the double Windsor and tightened it, brushing his fingers across Harry’s throat, searching for that delicious pulse that hammered wildly beneath the white collar.

 

Harry swallowed nervously when he felt Snape’s hands tighten the slip of fabric around his neck. He wondered how often his teacher had fantasised about strangling him, this exact way. When those fingers touched his throat, it seemed he wouldn’t be strangled now at least. He cleared his throat, efficiently breaking the trance that his teacher had put himself into.

 

“Sir? I need a permission slip to return to my dorm now. It’s long past curfew.”

 

Harry tried to sound certain and self-confident, but he feared that Snape wouldn’t let him go. That he would have to sleep in his bed again. Because of that, he was a little surprised to find that Snape turned on his heel and went straight for his desk to hand him a piece of paper with his signature on it, stating that Potter would not be punished for walking around past curfew. Stunned, Harry took the paper, bid his teacher good night and left without more trouble.

 

When Harry finally hit the pillow, the permission slip had been used no less than four times. First by Filch and his ugly cat, then Professor Flitwick and McGongall. Four times, if you count the cat, thought Harry before he fell asleep, fully clothed.

 

Early the next morning, Harry was rustled awake by Dean Thomas, who was nattering on about Quidditch. Harry threw his pillow in Dean’s face, effectively making him realize Potter no longer was the Gryffindor seeker. Unable to go back to sleep, Harry sat up, yawned and stretched. Looking down to find himself with clothes on, he shrugged and pulled a hand through his hair. Looked like he finally would be able to get some breakfast this morning.

 

Seated at his usual place in the Great Hall, quietly munching on some toast and bacon, he watched the remains of the Gryffindor Quidditch team stumble inside to grab a bite before their morning practice.

 

Feeling a bit morose, he stared down into his cup of pumpkin juice. Suddenly, a feeling of intense hunger washed over him, as if he hadn’t just eaten seven pieces of toast and two sausages with bacon on the side. Frowning, he felt the hunger slowly dissipating and he looked up.

 

Snape entered through the large double doors of the Great Hall. A crowd of students followed behind him, talking and yawning. He spotted Ron and Hermione amongst them and waved to get their attention. He decided to ignore the strange feeling he’d just experienced and smiled at his approaching friends.

 

“Good morning Harry.” Hermione greeted him, her usual energetic self.

 

Ron, on the other hand, was almost yawning his jaw off. He muttered out a disgruntled, “What are ye’ doin’ up so bloody early for?”

 

Harry enjoyed the silence as his friends ate. That was, until Hermione pointed out the fact that he actually had a proper knot on his tie this morning. He felt confused for a moment, but then he realized that Snape had tied it for him last night. Hell, he’d even slept with it still on! Stuttering, he tried to explain, but Hermione beat him to it.

 

Looking perfectly calm, she asked, “Did Snape teach you how to tie it?”

 

Harry stared at her and nodded, but then he changed his mind and said, “Well, no, he tied it for me.”

 

Ron looked up, horrified, “What, this morning? And you _kept_ it?”

 

Harry stared at his plate and muttered, “No, he tied it last night, before I left.”

 

Hermione simply smiled, but Ron let out a shriek, “YESTERDAY?!” He coughed, almost choking on a piece of kidney pie, “What the _bloody hell_ Harry?”  
  
Clenching his fists, Harry grumbled, “What? Maybe I actually liked it? Can’t I keep it only because he happened to tie it? Grow up Ron. We’re not kids anymore.”

 

Ron returned to his breakfast, muttering something incoherent beneath his breath.

 

Harry clenched his jaw. “What?”

 

Weasley looked up and cleared his throat, “I said; well at least I’m not _engaged_ to the ‘Greasy Git’.”   
  
Harry stared in disbelief at his ginger friend. Hermione went red in the face, smacked Ron in the head and looked apologetically towards Harry. But he had already risen from the table, his face a cold and frozen mask of betrayal.

 

As Harry started to walk away with his bag over his shoulder, he heard Ron yelling ‘ _I’m sorry!_ ’ to his back, but he ignored him. Lost in thought, he accidentally walked right through Nearly Headless Nick on his way to the courtyard. He didn’t stop to apologize. He kept walking until he reached the middle of the large open space that is the Hogwarts grounds.

 

The air was clean and cold when he drew a deep stuttering breath. He heard the screams and shouts from the Quidditch field and walked the opposite way, heading straight for the lake. He walked around its rocky shoreline until he got to the edge of the forbidden forest. He knew that if he kept walking just a little bit further, he would reach a large rock. He used to sit there, alone, and just think about why life kept treating him like shit.

 

As he sat down on the ground and leaned his back to the rock, he knew that classes had already started. All noises had died down. It was just him and the forest now. He sighed and closed his eyes a few moments. First class would be Defence against the dark arts. Great. Yet another detention with Umbridge to look forward to. He looked at the back of his left hand and smiled. She would be so disappointed that the scars had disappeared. Maybe Snape could help him heal it next time as well? But then he remembered what that particular kind of ‘healing’ meant and he quickly shook that thought out of his head. Too weird.

 

Releasing yet another sigh, he pulled out his wand and conjured his Patronus. A silvery sheen of blinding white emerged from the tip of his wand and materialized into a large, gleaming stag. It seemed to look at him for a moment, as if trying to figure out what Harry wanted, before it made a huffing noise and turned, walking deeper into the forest. Harry felt tempted to follow it, and was going to, until he saw the stag dissolving into smoke between the trees.

 

Wondering whether the next class had started yet, he peeked out from behind the boulder. He couldn’t see any students or staff so he assumed classes weren’t over yet. Leaning back towards the cold rock, closing his eyes, he decided to wait until lunch before he returned to school.

 

A long while later, he blinked his eyes open and cast a quick tempus spell. Almost noon. He grabbed his bag and got up on his stiff legs. He knew he was going to be yelled at, but he didn’t care. It had been nice to be alone and able to not think on things for a while.

 

He hurried back towards the castle, meeting no one on his way to the Transfiguration classroom, until he was spotted by Snape who quickly turned and went straight towards him.

 

Harry tried to ignore the man and mumbled “Gotta go, I’m late,” when Snape grabbed his arm.

 

His professor ignored all his excuses and tugged harder on his arm, waiting for Potter to behave and pulled him aside so they could speak in peace. As Harry sighed and complied, Snape finally spoke. “What do you think you are doing, Potter? Skipping classes, behaving like a spoilt child?”

 

Harry grunted and tried to argue that it wasn’t true, but Snape stared him down and demanded an answer. Looking up at the furious expression his professor displayed, Harry reluctantly told him what had been bothering him all morning, “Ron called you a Greasy Git. And he said we’re engaged and that it’s basically my fault.”

 

Snape’s eyes didn’t waver. He kept staring at Potter with his black pools of knowledge. “And?” he prompted.  


Harry furrowed his brows as his mouth opened again without him wanting to, “I went out to sit by the lake, because Ron’s an idiot.” He stared at Snape and demanded, “How are you even doing this?”   
  
His professor raised a single black eyebrow. “Doing what?”   
  
Harry sighed, “Making me tell you things I don’t want to?”

 

Snape’s face was back to his usual neutral expression when he replied, “I’m not doing anything.” until he noticed the tie. Harry’s tie, with _his_ knot on it. Smirking, he whipped out a tightly sealed parchment scroll with a blood red bow on it and handed it to Harry. “I believe you will need this. Give it to Professor McGonagall as soon as your lesson starts.”   
  
Baffled, Harry stared at the scroll in his hand. “What is it?”   
  
Curling his upper lip, Snape drawled, “Give it to her. Now don’t be late. I will see you this evening.” Snape turned and walked away, headed for the dungeons with Harry’s scent pulled deep into his lungs.

 

Harry stared at the flurry of black robes as his professor hurried off. He bit his lower lip, glancing at the magically sealed scroll in his hand.

 

Arriving first of all students in front of the heavy oak door that belonged to the transfiguration classroom, Harry only had to wait five seconds before Professor McGonagall appeared before him, carrying a book under her left arm and levitating a large cage filled with birds with the wand in her right hand.

 

When she saw Potter already waiting outside her door, she pursed her lips tightly together and narrowed her eyes. Before she’d had a chance to start scolding him for skipping classes, Harry acted quickly and held out the scroll to her.

 

She looked at it for a second, then she said, “Would you be so kind as to open the door for me, Potter?”

 

“Of course, Professor,” Harry said and did as he was asked, allowing McGonagall walk inside.

 

When she had placed the book and the cage on her large desk, she turned to face Potter. “Would you care to tell my why I have been receiving owls with notes of your absence from each and every one of the morning classes?”

 

Harry felt ashamed of himself and stared at his feet, before he muttered out, “I was supposed to give you this before class started.”

 

McGonagall took the scroll from his outstretched hand. With a single tap of her wand, the scroll floated into the air and unravelled itself. She studied the message a moment, then she looked at Potter above her glasses with a suspicious look.

 

“Who gave you this message?”

 

Harry looked confused, “Um...Professor Snape did?”

 

“Very well then. I shall immediately send notes to all the teachers concerned that your absence will no longer be questionable.”

 

Harry stared at her with his mouth open. He realized he must look like an idiot, so he quickly closed it and tried to look like whatever might be expected of him. What in Merlin’s white beard had Snape actually written to her?

 

“I understand that it must be hard for you, but please try to stay healthy and go to as many lessons as you can.”

 

“As many as I can?” He echoed, sounding too surprised even to his own ears.

 

“Yes, Potter.”

 

Harry’s face lit up, “Does that mean I can skip every lesson with the pink-…, I mean with Umbridge?”

 

McGonagall looked very sternly at him. “Now, only because I said that you could, doesn’t mean that you should, Mr Potter. You still need good grades if you want to become an Auror. Things haven’t changed, you are still going to all the classes, but if you are feeling unwell as you did today, then you will not receive any detention. That is all.” She seemed to think a moment, then she said, “Hand me the homework you were supposed to hand in this morning and I shall make sure it gets the grade it deserves.”

 

Harry nodded and pulled out his pile of parchments to his Professor, but couldn’t wipe his grin off his face. Before McGonagall could ask him anything more, Hermione showed up at the classroom door, with a surprised shout.

 

“Harry! There you are, we’ve been so worried, where did you go?” Hermione grabbed his arm and dragged him with her to their usual spot in the class.

 

Ron came through the door, looked around and when he noticed that Harry was back, he grinned and hurried towards them. Harry had to wait until after the lesson was finished before he could tell them about his unbelievable luck.

 

He got his chance when they collected their books and headed downstairs in the castle, walking to the dungeons to have their next potion lesson with Snape. When he had finished talking, Hermione looked concerned, but Ron was grinning,

 

“This means whenever you’re on Umbridge’s lessons, all you’ve got to do is complain about your scar hurting and then you can leave and she’ll never be able to abuse you again!”

 

“ _Ron_ ,” Hermione said, narrowing her eyes, “You know he can’t become an Auror if he does that.”

 

Ron frowned, “Right, forgot about that, mate.”

 

Harry didn’t care. He was just happy he got out from doing detention. He had trouble wiping his grin off his face before class started.

 

Even potions seemed to go well now. During this particular lesson, Snape didn’t talk to him, he didn’t approach him and he didn’t lean over his cauldron to sneer at its contents. Harry saw Snape move around the room, his black cloak swirling around him, practically breathing out malevolence.

 

The only one in the dungeon who looked disappointed was Malfoy. It was obvious to anyone who had eyes that he’d been hoping for a scathing remark about Potter being too good to follow school’s rules, or about actually attending the classes you were supposed to be studying.

 

When Snape had passed Harry several times without saying anything to him, Malfoy started to look desperate. As it was nearly time to finish up and pour their ‘Elixirs of Giddiness’ into vials, Malfoy rose from his seat and strolled off to the ingredients cabinet. He rummaged around amongst the strange bottles, boxes and dried herbs before he found a paper box labelled ‘Pods of Stink-Sap’. Grabbing a particularly large and obnoxious looking stink-sap, he nonchalantly turned from the cabinet and strolled past Weasley’s and Potter’s table.

 

Sneering at Harry, he leaned over the cauldron to Harry’s left and mockingly said, “Soo…Potter’s ego is too large to fit into the tiny spaces we mortals call classrooms, now?”

 

Harry looked up in the same moment as Snape appeared behind Malfoy’s back and they both saw the blonde drop the stink-sap into the bubbling cauldron. The potion turned a sickly yellow before their eyes and fizzed sharply. Ron audibly moaned at the sight.

 

“Dear oh dear, poor Potter can’t even brew a simple potion properly,” Malfoy grinned maliciously at him.

 

But before Malfoy had a chance to sneak back to his own place, a smooth and icy voice said, loud and clear, “Well, mister Malfoy, it seems that _you_ can’t brew a potion properly.”

 

Turning around to see his teacher behind him, he snarled, “What are you talking about? My potion is fine!”

 

Snape’s eyebrows rose in mock surprise. “Really?”

 

Malfoy tried to stand as tall as he could, but he was much shorter than Snape, so he settled for another snarled answer, “Of course it is!”

 

Snape hummed at that, looked at Ron’s foul smelling cauldron and returned to meet Draco’s eyes with a glare. “It seems to me, that you can’t even read a simple recipe, since you just added a pod of stink-sap to Mr Weasley’s potion.”

 

Malfoy’s face turned red, “ _I did not!_ ”

 

Snape’s voice turned into a slow, soft hiss, “Hold your tongue, you insolent little brat.” Malfoy’s stunned face became several shades paler when Snape spoke next, “As punishment, you will swap potions with Mr Weasley.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read Draco's reaction in the next chapter~   
> Hopefully, it will arrive sooner that after two months, but who knows? 
> 
> Reviews helps motivating a writer with painfully slow writing habits. *hint, hint* 
> 
> (Author is completely ignoring what she wrote in the previous chapter's note.) (That will happen though.)


	9. WHAT did the scroll say??

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and the rest of the potions class stare in awe as Snape finally punishes someone who deserves it.  
> A meeting with Dumbledore makes Snape think too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback: 
> 
> Snape hummed at that, looked at Ron’s foul smelling cauldron and returned to meet Draco’s eyes with a glare. “It seems to me, that you can’t even read a simple recipe, since you just added a pod of stink-sap to Mr Weasley’s potion.” 
> 
> Malfoy’s face turned red, “I did not!” 
> 
> Snape’s voice turned into a slow, soft hiss, “Hold your tongue, you insolent little brat.” Malfoy’s stunned face became several shades paler when Snape spoke next, “As punishment, you will swap potions with Mr Weasley.”
> 
> (The Edit for this chapter is only adding cursive to a few places. No new material other than that)

“What? _No_!”

 

Snape settled with a slight smirk and said nonchalantly, “Very well, Mister Malfoy. I shall have to send an owl to your father, enlightening him of the fact that his own son is a _liar_ and a _cheat_.” Snape started to loom over Malfoy and whispered between bared teeth, “But of course, then he’d be proud. You’re just like your father. Lying, spreading rumours and _cheating_. ”

 

Malfoy stared, as if Snape had grown a third ear in the middle of his forehead. “My father will hear about this!”

 

Snape’s face widened into a wolfish grin and he whispered, “Oh yes, he will.”

 

Malfoy took a step backwards, shaking his head, “No, professor, you wouldn’t..!”

 

Snape followed him with his eyes and muttered, “Oh, well I suppose there is a way we can work around this… _little problem_.”

 

Snape’s hand emerged from his black robes and gestured to Ron with a long pale finger. “Weasley! Pour one scoop of your potion into a vial. Then hand it to me, please.”

 

Ron’s hands were shaking as they reached for the scoop and the vial. The yellowish potion had turned into a thick sludge that resembled badly stirred jelly. Holding the half filled vial carefully between his thumb and index finger, he handed it to Snape with a look of disgust on his face.

 

Snape’s black eyes hadn’t left Malfoy’s for a second and he continued to stare at him as he uncorked the vial and held it beneath his large nose. A swift sniff, then he held out the vial to the Slytherin.

 

By now, even Hermione was watching the scene unfold before them. Everyone heard Malfoy’s gulp when he grabbed the vial with shaky hands. Every single student in the dungeon held their breath when Malfoy brought it to his lips and tried to drink it. The potion had clumped itself together and landed with a sickening squish on Malfoy’s tongue. Harry felt nauseous, even though he was only looking. Draco’s face scrunched together in a grimace as he forced himself to swallow.

 

A few breathless moments passed. Then Malfoy let out a slight whimper. Then the potion hit him with full effects. Malfoy burped loudly. He slapped his hand across his mouth, looking like he was going to get sick, hiccupped and ran for the door. A belching noise was heard outside in the corridor and everyone turned back to Snape.

 

The Potions Master was looking languidly towards the door. “It seems Mr Malfoy successfully created a snail-burping potion. What an achievement. And here I thought we were making Giddiness-potions….silly me.”

 

He looked around, then he snapped his fingers, “Well, go on! Finish up and bring me a sample of your potion to my desk. Now!”

 

Noise exploded in the dungeon, everyone busy stirring and filling vials. Harry turned to Ron, grinning like a madman, “See? I told you he’s not so bad!”

 

Ron looked miserable, “But what am I going to do? My potion is ruined…”

 

Harry grabbed Ron’s vial and marched off to Malfoy’s table, completely ignoring Pansy Parkinson who glared at him as he passed, found Malfoy’s abandoned cauldron and neatly filled up Ron’s vial to the brim.

 

When they were finished and stood last in a line in front of Snape’s desk, Ron whispered to Harry, “If the Greasy Git continues like this, I might even stop calling him names.”

 

Harry only smiled. When it was his turn to hand in the vial, he blinked at Snape. The Professor didn’t react in any particular way, except that he looked up and said, “I’ll see you tonight then, Potter.” Harry nodded as a reply and the trio made their way off to the library, finding one or two slugs on their way.

 

 

Tuesday, 16th September. Evening.

 

“And his _face_! It was hilarious; I can’t believe you did that!” Harry was gesturing wildly as he was walking around in the middle of Snape’s private rooms, later that evening.

 

Snape was standing next to his armchair, unbuttoning his frock coat with a slight smile playing on his lips. “I believe Mr Malfoy deserved a taste of his own medicine for once.”   
  
Harry was grinning from ear to ear. When Snape had settled in his chair, smoothed out his waistcoat, closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, Harry turned to him, looking curiously at his teacher. “Professor? I’ve been wondering, about that scroll. What did it say?”

 

Snape opened one eye to peer at the younger with a slight smirk. “Ah. The scroll.” The Potions Master closed his eyes again, “I merely wrote that ‘due to our unique arrangement, you are to be expected to show signs of fatigue or maybe not show up at all, and if that is the case, you are not to be punished because you were simply doing your duty as my mate’ or something like that.” He let out a soft sigh as he exhaled Potter’s sweet scent through his rather large nose.  
  
Harry paled at the weird description. “What do you mean, ‘Doing my duty as your mate’?” His face suddenly burst into red spots. “Are you telling me you wrote McGonagall a letter telling her I was late because… we’d just had sex?!” Harry’s voice started out loud, but ended in a horrifying hissed-out whisper, complete with a deep red blush.

 

Snape let out a chortle, his pale hand covering his amused smirk, his body shaking with repressed laughter as he was observing Potter’s childish reaction.

 

“SNAPE!” Harry yelled, “It’s _not_ funny!”

 

Snape gathered himself and continued in a calm, cool voice, “I must confess that I never thought it would work, even though I signed it and the fact that she knows about us.”

 

Harry groaned out loud and pressed his palms into his face. “I can’t believe that you would actually do such a thing.”   
  
Snape pursed his lips, “Stop whining, it worked, didn’t it? Now you have a perfectly valid reason to be late for every class you have.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, donned his usual sneer and continued, “But if I find out you’ve been abusing this advantage, I will make sure it is removed.”   
  
Harry had calmed down enough to sit in the armchair opposite his teacher. He curled op on the soft seat with his socked feet beneath him, looking a little miffed. “Okay. Whatever.”   
  
They sat in silence for several minutes, until Snape leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his fingers together. “Potter. Come here.”   
  
Looking up, Harry narrowed his eyes and glared. “No thanks.”

 

Sighing, Snape beckoned him closer with a bony finger. “Don’t be bothersome. Just do as I say.”   
  
Grumbling a little, Harry slipped down from the armchair and approached the vampire. “What?”

 

Snape reached out and grabbed Harry’s wrist, pulling him closer still. “I’m hungry, you silly boy.” The insult didn’t really come out as the insult it had been intended to be when it finally passed Snape’s lips, but right now he couldn’t care less. That delectable pulse beating beneath his fingers was distracting him from everything else. He looked up at Potter, who now appeared nervous again. “Calm down Potter, I’m not going to bite your head off.”

 

Harry looked at the man seated in the armchair before him. Snape looked so different now, right in this moment. Exposed. He’d never seen the man without his layers and layers of stiff, black clothes. He swallowed awkwardly, opened his mouth to try and speak, but found that his voice had gotten lost somewhere between his vocal cords and his tongue. Snape still looked at him expectantly. Had he said anything to him? He wasn’t sure. Now his expression had changed, he looked slightly worried. If Snape had the ability to look worried, that is. Everything seemed unreal; he wasn’t sure if the frantic beating of his heart was the fear of being bitten, or if it had suddenly changed into excitement of the prospect of being torn into. Harry closed his eyes, shuddered and suddenly all noise seemed to pour back into his world. He hadn’t even noticed them missing. He must be tired.

 

Snape was holding his shoulders with both hands, shaking him, “Potter!” He scowled, “Answer me.”

“What is it?” Harry asked, looking down at Snape with a frown.

 

Snape raised an eyebrow at the young man’s sudden cheek. “You were unresponsive,” he announced flatly. Harry did not seem to care. Somehow the young man looked both terrified and thrilled at the same time. Feeling his teeth elongating, he grasped Potter’s wrist, pressed it to his large nose, closed his eyes and inhaled the exquisite scent that was exclusively Potter. Snape knew he couldn’t deny himself much longer so he tugged lightly on the offered wrist. Harry complied and slid to the floor in front of him, scooted backwards and leaned slightly on one of Snape’s knees so he could sit comfortably and avoid yesterday’s awkward angle.   


Harry swallowed as he felt Snape’s knee connect with his back. It felt so terribly wrong to be this close to Snape, of all people. He’d realized the man wasn’t too bad when it came to discussing certain things, like when he’d helped him with his homework. But still. This was the same man who had taunted him and harassed him since the very first day he’d arrived at Hogwarts. Harry frowned; still, he seemed to have changed a little since they’d found out about this entire vampires and mate thing. Snape had been rather decent about it, when he could have been a complete git.   
  
Harry’s musings were cut short when he felt two sharp teeth pierce his skin with a vicious bite. He tried to yank his hand away out of sheer reflex, but Snape wasn’t about to let him go. Instead of easing his grip on the younger, Snape let out an inhuman growl that made Harry freeze and his hair to stand on end.

 

His teeth stopped digging into the soft flesh and Snape curled both his hands around Harry’s arm to prevent any escape attempts. After admiring the crimson fluid for a heartbeat, Snape hissed out “ _Mine_ ” and started licking greedily at the trickling blood. Soon, he was sealing his lips around the wounds to start drinking properly. Harry had shivered involuntarily at the intensity of the Potion Master’s sudden possessive actions, feeling rather small and vulnerable. But soon, Snape was relaxing his grip and using his saliva to heal the harm he had caused. When the wounds had disappeared completely, Snape rubbed his thumb over the soft skin of Harry’s wrist, almost like an apology, before he let it go.

 

Harry felt shaky where he sat, cradling his healed, but slightly sore arm. Right now, he was grateful he had Snape’s knee behind his back, or he would have toppled over. A small bottle was shoved into his hand with a curt “Drink.” Harry threw his head back and emptied it. He recognized the scent of the blood-replenisher more quickly now.

 

A few minutes later, Harry had gathered up all his things and was allowed to leave the dungeons.

 

But, as Harry was walking out of the door, Snape suddenly spoke, “Potter. Tomorrow evening, we have an appointment with the Headmaster.”

 

Harry frowned, “Dumbledore? What could he want?”

 

Snape sighed at Potter’s lack of deduction. “He wants a recipe for meatloaf.” When Harry stared at Snape, completely bewildered, Snape snapped, “He wants to talk to us about our progress, you dunderhead!”

 

Harry winced a little at Snape’s behaviour and managed a soft “Oh,” in response.

 

Snape glared at him, “Same time as today, but we meet up outside his office. Is that clear?”

 

Wondering where Snape’s sudden foul mood came from, Harry nodded at the upset vampire and hurried off to the Tower before he said something to Snape that he would regret.

 

As soon as the source of the tantalizing scent was gone, Snape released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Both relieved and devastated at Potter’s departure, Snape hurried off to his lab. His potions to keep his hunger in check failed him half-way through the session with Potter. Had his mate delayed even a moment….he shuddered at the thought.

 

Wednesday, 17th September. 

 

Harry was walking in circles outside Dumbledore’s office door. He was right on time and Snape hadn’t showed up yet. Where was he? Harry stopped and listened hard, trying to hear if Snape had sneaked inside right before he had arrived. Nothing, not even the faintest tinkle of Dumbledore’s strange metallic objects buzzing around. Growing more and more agitated as time passed, Harry realized he was worried. ‘ _Bloody hell!_ ’ he thought, ‘ _I’m going mental, just like Ron said!_ ’ He slapped his palms into his face and groaned out loud.

 

“Potter? _What in Merlin’s beard are you doing_?” Snape’s voice, silky and smooth reached Harry’s ears. He immediately straightened up and released an anxious breath he’d been holding in.

 

He did his best at looking unaffected as he turned to look at the vampire, “Nothing, Sir.”

 

Snape glared at him, swept his gaze up and down the younger’s body and huffed. “You look awful Potter. What have you been doing all day? Frolicking with Hagrid’s pets?”

 

Harry clenched his jaws and bit out a cold, “No, sir. I have been studying.”

 

Raising a single eyebrow, Snape looked at him again. “Well, you can’t look like that, now can you?” He raised his black wand and muttered something beneath his breath as he made a swirling motion. The stains on Harry’s clothes disappeared as the fabrics straightened themselves up, making his sweater and cloak look as if they had passed through a magic dry-cleaner. With a red-faced Harry still wearing them.

 

Clearing his throat, Harry managed a “Thank you,” before Snape approached him, reached out his hands and made Harry’s once calm voice make an undignified squeak.

 

“Why can’t you ever learn to tie that damned garment if you’re so determined on wearing it?” he snarled and grabbed Harry’s tie harshly. Harry never had time to answer that because Snape is touching his throat again, it tickles but not really, and he is so close and that tie is going to strangle him one day unless…   
  
They both stopped short when a booming voice was heard, “Gentlemen.”   
Dumbledore’s eyes looked rather amused when he saw Snape’s fingers lingering on Harry’s throat and Harry’s blushing face.   
  
When they realized the situation, they sprang apart as if they were two magnets repelling each other. Snape regained his composure at once, nodding towards Dumbledore, “Headmaster.”

 

Harry tried to do the same but ended up stuttering, “Oh, Dumb…eh, Alb…I mean Dumbledore. Headmaster!”

 

Dumbledore did not remark upon Harry’s mistake, he merely showed them inside his office with a discreet gesture. Inside, the strange machines and trinkets were all silent and still. Dumbledore sat down behind his desk as Snape and Potter took a conjured armchair in glaring colour themes each. As soon as they sat down, Dumbledore peeked at them over his half-moon glasses with a pointed look. “Well?”   
  
Snape curled his upper lip, “’Well’, _what_?”   


Dumbledore sighed and looked pityingly at them both. “How is everything going?”   


The silence in the room was stifling. Harry’s magically cleaned clothes itched and he squirmed in his seat.   


Taking a new approach, Dumbledore turned to Harry instead, “Harry, my boy, how is Professor Snape treating you?”   


When Harry opened his mouth to say that, ‘well Snape isn’t that bad’, the man himself sprang up from his chair and spat out, “What are you implying, you old loon?! That I _mistreat_ him? What kind of evidence do you have for such accusations, I’d like to know!”

 

Dumbledore held up his hands to calm the agitated vampire, “Now, now, Severus, no one is accusing you of anything. I was simply asking Harry of his version of these events.”

 

Snape grudgingly sat back down. Glaring at Harry, he snapped, “Well, _go on_! Tell him how horrible I am to you!”

 

Swallowing hard, Harry tore his eyes away from Snape’s piercing gaze. “Um…professor,” He tried to focus on Dumbledore’s eyebrows or his glasses to avoid those knowing eyes, “Erm, Snape, uh, I mean _Professor_ Snape has been really kind actually. He’s helped me with my homework and he’s been really good about all this, you know, this mate-thing in general…” he trailed off and turned to stare at his clasped hands in his lap.   
  
Dumbledore smiled widely towards Snape, “See, Severus? Did I not tell you that everything has a way of finding its right way in the end?”

 

Snape only grunted back. But he did glance towards Potter, and allowed his eyes to linger a little over those broad shoulders and that mess that was supposedly hair. Only thirteen more days, then he’d have a completely valid reason to feast his eyes upon the very flesh beneath-

 

“Severus!”

 

With a jolt, Snape looked back at the headmaster. “Yees?” He drawled, his knuckles whitening as he squeezed the armrests.

Dumbledore conjured a tea tray out of nowhere as he spoke, “Harry and I were discussing the events of the dark period.” He handed Harry a cup, “He does very well understand what might happen to him if you feel he is unfaithful-”   
  
Snape snorted to himself. _‘Might happen’! It is going to happen and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Not that it sounds like such a horrible idea, not since-_ He forced his thoughts back to the conversation going on outside the privacy of his mind.

 

Later that night, Snape’s Private Chambers. 

With the lingering taste of Potter’s delicious blood on his tongue, Snape felt unusually well. He stretched out in his plush emerald green armchair and let out a pleased sigh. His head was clear, his stomach full and _only thirteen more days_ until he could allow himself to be greedy and keep Potter in the dungeons overnight. Smirking to himself, he summoned a bottle of fine whiskey and a glass. What did it matter if Potter hated him or not? He’d be allowed to keep him, treat him as he wished and drink whenever he wished.

 

He did not fancy that messy runt anyway, no most certainly not. Snape stared into his glass of whiskey, his cheerful mood gone as if someone had told him that Gilderoy Lockhart had returned to teaching and was going to move into the dungeons with him. There was no point in refusing to see the obvious anymore. He had fallen for his idiotic vampiric instincts to protect and care for Potter! ‘ _No’_ , he thought sadly, as he emptied his drink, ‘ _my mate_.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should we have a time-skip or not? (I can't decide, help)
> 
> Let me know your thoughts and feelings about this chapter!


	10. The Failed Potion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, Snape hasn't failed a potion since he was thirteen. Now his batch goes wrong.  
> Harry is called down to the dungeons on his single day off on the feeding schedule only to find a distressed Snape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been thinking and taking into consideration of what you, as my reader would like to happen.  
> So, the conclusion that I have drawn is this:
> 
> I will not skip the thirteen days but I will not write about all of them either. You'll need the important  
> bits and pieces that makes up the foundation of Potter's and Snape's relationship before we enter into  
> the dark period and Snape starts growing fidgety and possessive. 
> 
> Thanks for all the ideas and stuff you throw at me! I devour them with great enthusiasm and a dash of treacle tart. 
> 
> (Oh and if you think this is short, it was almost four pages in word)

_Thursday, 18 th of September. 7.37 pm._

 

Snape was leaning over his simmering cauldron. Narrowing his eyes in the greyish fumes, he sniffed wearily at the potion. He swept his gaze over the worn old pages of the book next to him again. He had followed the recipe as usual, but the scent and consistency had turned out absolutely revolting.

 The slimy, lumpy green goo in the cauldron was supposed to be as liquid as water and coloured in a pleasant shade of pale crimson. Could it be something wrong with the ingredients? No, impossible. He knew he kept a strict eye on every ingredient in his stores to make sure that if one went bad, it wouldn’t ruin any other ingredients.

 Straightening his back, he reached for a glass spoon. He had made this potion several times a week; he knew the drill by now. He’d practically been living off it before Potter came along and was offered up to him like a well fed slaughter lamb. He sighed. If only today hadn’t been one of Albus’ scheduled days off for Potter, that young man would have been here now, offering his sweet, delicious blood, smelling like bourbon vanilla and rich chocolate.

Swallowing hard to clear his mind and his tightening throat, he dipped the spoon into the glob. Holding it up in front of his face made the smell wafting away from it no more pleasant. He knew that nothing that was in the potion would do any harm to him if he tried it. Yet he felt repulsed at the very thought of it. Taking a deep breath, he muttered, “In for a Knut, in for a Galleon,” and slipped the spoon past his pale lips. The reaction was instantaneous. It felt like trying to eat a live scorpion, it burned and stung, making him gag and in the end he had to hurry to the bathroom.

Emptying his stomach made him feel a little better. For a while. Then the hunger the potion usually staved off returned with its full force. Groaning in pain, Snape wrapped his left arm around his middle, squeezing tight to try and ease the throbbing ache that reminded him to kill and feed. Refusing to listen to his screaming body, he crawled to his bed and crept beneath the covers, feeling miserable and lonely.

Trying to occupy his mind with other things than blood, he eventually started wondering what Potter might be up to on his evening off. He had a hunch that Potter was probably wasting time best used for studies to play Exploding Snap with that bloody Weasley, or copying off Granger’s homework. If only Potter had been here instead, he found himself wishing. He couldn’t help it, he wanted that bloody whelp close to him and he wanted it _now_ , damn it! Cursing beneath his breath, he wrapped his duvet around himself and tried to go to sleep. When he was still awake ten minutes later, he summoned a piece of parchment and tried his best to sit up in bed, despite the now almost unbearable pain.

 ****

Meanwhile, Harry was sitting in one of the fluffy chairs in front of the fireplace high up in the common room of the Gryffindor Tower, busying himself with a fourth round of Exploding Snap with Ron. His nights with Snape had become a routine so quickly it felt strange to be back with his friends, spending his time as he pleased. The clicking of Hermione’s knitting needles along with the crackling of the fire and the rest of the noisy Gryffindors wore on his nerves though. In Snape’s rooms it was much quieter and, he hated to admit it, comfortable. 

He found himself wondering what Snape was up to. Probably dissecting some disgusting old toad for fun. Or cooking up some new potion, with something equally disgusting as a main ingredient. When Ron had lost his sixth round, he gave up and asked Harry for a game of ‘good ’ol’ Wizard’s Chess. Harry shook his head as answer and went to fetch his copy of ‘ _Beating the Bludgers—A Study of Defensive Strategies in Quidditch_ ’ to get some time alone. But when he opened the book, a piece of folded parchment fell out. Furrowing his brows, he unfolded it and saw that it was a note. A note from Snape.

A quick look around the room made Harry sure that no one was paying any attention to him and he started to read, _“Apologies if this message materialized at an inconvenient moment, but would you be as kind as to come down to the Dungeons?”_

Harry stared at the message signed in green ink with ‘ _S. Snape_ ’ in a curly hand. What the hell did he want _now_? And just how the hell had that note ended up inside his book? He reached for Hermione’s quill that lay on top of her copy of ‘Hogwarts; A History’. Scrawling an answer beneath Snape’s message felt stupid, but he wasn’t about to go down to the dungeons just so Snape could taunt him for being such a fool as to believe that a note lying inside a borrowed library book could possibly come from him. Better send Hedwig with the note. It would be quicker, too. But as soon as Harry had made a dot after the final word, the parchment disappeared.

Now, regretting his harsh words, Harry shot up from the chair making his book and Hermione’s quill fall unceremoniously to the stone floor with a loud thump. Earning a few strange glances from his friends, he quickly gathered up the things and headed towards his bedroom. He was going to use the cloak, go down to the dungeons and see if it was Snape who had sent the message. If it wasn’t, then he could have a laugh and go back to his dorm. If it was, well then he’d have to deal with that scenario at that time.

 ****

Standing outside Snape’s chambers hidden beneath his invisibility cloak, Harry began to feel really stupid. Sighing, he weighted the options in his mind. Should he knock and apologize or should he ignore it and return to his friends? Harry squeezed his eyes shut and was just about to raise his hand when the hidden door swung open.  
  
Snape was leaning heavily on the doorframe, barely able to keep himself upright. His face was stark white and pearly with beads of sweat, yet he seemed to shudder where he stood. “Are you going to stand there or are you coming inside?”

Harry held his breath and didn’t move. Snape breathed out a heavy sigh, “I can hear your heartbeat, Potter, what are you gong to do about that? I don’t suppose you can halt your heart, too?” 

Scowling, Harry yanked off his cloak and strode past Snape.

“Alright what do you want?” Harry tried to snarl at the man, but the words sounded horribly apologetic even to his own ears. He licked his lips and stared down at the floor rather than looking at Snape.  
  
Snape had only taken two steps away from the door, swallowing thickly he replied, “I must confess I feel like…someone had twisted my innards with a pair of white hot tongs.”

Harry nibbled on his bottom lip, and looked Snape up and down. The tall, proud man was slouching with his eyes closed, his arms and legs trembling with the force of keeping himself somewhat upright. Harry suddenly felt very bad for his immature behaviour and he hurried towards Snape when he saw that his mate was slipping.

He caught him before he fell, but now his arms were filled with a panting, sweating Snape who was, as Harry soon realized, quite heavy to carry. Harry wondered if he should risk it and remove one hand to get his wand and levitate the man to his bedroom, but he quickly realized that he’d drop him if he tried. Grunting with strained effort, he started dragging the taller man across the stone floor. Harry had to stop to try and haul the slipping man more across his shoulder halfway across the room. It took a little while until he finally got him inside the man's bedroom and close enough to the bed to be able to gently help him sit down.

Finally in a sitting position, Snape let out a shaky breath, “My potion failed. I haven’t brewed such a bad tonic since I was thirteen.” Harry raised an eyebrow to his Professor, but Snape continued, his eyes closed and his arms wrapped tightly across his abdomen, “It’s the potion to help me resist my blood thirst. I’ve brewed it so many times I know it by heart, but today it simply did not work. I even consulted the book, but of course I had brewed it correctly.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but one of Snape’s hands shot out and grabbed his robe, “I tasted it and…it was the foulest taste I have ever come across.”

Harry swallowed, “Why did you taste it if you knew it was bad?”

Snape’s eyes stared, wide open and menacing towards the younger, “Because otherwise I might kill you!” A shudder wracked his body and he continued, pulling Potter closer to himself by the grip on his clothes, his voice a faint whisper, “I want to drink, my body aches for it, _craves_ it, but I am afraid that if I do, I will go too far and you will die.”

Harry allowed himself to be dragged close. He felt odd. Why would Snape care if he lived or died? That old git hated his guts! Or did he? Harry felt very confused and his train of thought did not fare better when Snape suddenly growled and with an inhuman strength grabbed him and threw him down on the bed.

Harry was shocked, but quickly gathered himself and scrambled away, off the bed. He didn’t go far, Snape’s bony hands seized his ankles and he fell face first into the cold, hard stone floor. Momentarily disoriented, Harry held a hand to his aching forehead while he still tried to move away from the snarling vampire.

Snape’s vampiric instincts had overtaken the man himself, making him the perfect predator. Harry knew now how a polecat felt in the presence of a hippogriff. Very, _very_ vulnerable. 

Groaning in pain, Harry kicked towards Snape, hitting nothing but the air as the man stood above him, simply looking down at Potter crawling across the stones, his black eyes empty of any emotion, only staring at what he in that moment sees as prey.

At first, Harry thought that Snape had returned to his senses, but his next move would prove him wrong. Snape pounced. Harry screamed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And yes, Queen Rowling did come up with the "Beating the Bludgers"-book, not me.
> 
> What will happen next? Is Snape going to drain/kill/turn Potter? 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts and I will sit behind my scruffy desk and produce more of this mess called a story.


	11. The Snuggle-Struggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape takes what he wants, regardless of what his mate thinks.   
> And he drools a little, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Snape does not take what he wants in a sexual way. He is still a decent man. If only a little distracted.   
> And Harry is affected by drool. What a time to be alive.

When no teeth grazed his skin Harry looked up from the floor. He had covered his head with his arms and curled into a small ball. Snape was on his knees right next to him, his eyes observing him with a peculiar intenseness. None of them made any move, and so the tension filled the air until it brushed against their skin, forcing everything to a breaking point.

 Snape suddenly closed his eyes and sniffed the air. Harry flinched but remained where he was. He observed as Snape gradually opened his eyes, exhaled and moved slowly even closer towards him, with his hands open and meaning no harm. Harry tried to keep his breathing slow and measured when Snape’s hands calmly grabbed his wrists and pried them away from shielding his face and neck. A strong hand splayed itself flat on Harry’s sternum and pushed lightly, making him turn flat on his back, facing the vampire more fully. Harry allowed the movements, confused about the sudden shift in Snape’s behaviour.

 Taking another deep breath, Snape leaned closer to Potter and gathered him up in his arms, lifting him from the stones as if he weighed nothing at all. Convinced that his heart was going to beat out of his ribcage, Harry closed his eyes hard and tried once more to remember the lectures Hermione had given him about vampires. ‘ _Rule number one, stay calm. Rule number two_ …’

 He was abruptly cut short in his thinking when he felt Snape carefully lowering him, once more, onto the soft bed. Swallowing hard and refusing to open his eyes, he felt how the mattress dipped next to him, where Snape must be moving. Only he stopped moving. Harry opened his eyes warily and saw Snape, lying next to him. Confused, he raised an eyebrow and was about to ask the man what he wanted, when Snape suddenly had him in an iron grip, pressing the younger’s back harshly to his chest.

 Harry breathed shallowly through his slightly parted lips as he felt Snape’s large nose make contact with his exposed neck, softly brushing against the fine hairs as the vampire took deep mouthfuls of air simply inhaling his mate’s scent. Harry gradually felt his heart slow down to a more manageable pace when Snape had not made another move for several minutes. He squirmed a little, earning himself a warning growl in his ear and a tightening of the arms wrapped around him.

 It seemed Snape had relaxed into his vampire persona and was content to nuzzle his neck, but Harry knew the bite was inevitable. So it did not come as a surprise when he felt a pair of sharp teeth teasing the tender skin below his ear. Doing his best to remain calm, Harry decided that submission was probably the best way and turned his head to the side, allowing Snape better access.

 

 What made him freeze wasn’t the bite he knew would come, it was the languid and excessive licking that ensued instead. A warm, wet tongue was plainly massaging his neck, a hot breath accompanying the wetness occasionally. Harry felt his face heat up. This wasn’t Snape; someone had done something to him, jinxed him or imperiused him or something. After several minutes of enduring the slow torture, the threat of wickedly sharp teeth never far away, Harry noticed that the area Snape had been paying attention to was growing numb. Panicking a little, he started struggling in the older man’s embrace. As if on cue, Snape bit down brutally.

 The vicious bite made Harry gasp out a wet, pained wheeze as he squeezed his eyes shut hard. He remembered the first time Snape had bitten his neck. The older man had lost control and almost drained him. He couldn’t help the fruitless squirming any more than he could stop breathing. Snape pulled his sharp teeth from the wound and sealed his lips around the gash to drink.

 Harry felt his cheeks blossom when Snape groaned, pressing his groin to Harry’s bottom. The feeling of his potion master’s engorged member pushed snugly against his rear made Harry wish there weren’t any anti-apparition charms on the castle. He would happily offer his Firebolt to anyone who would help him get away. Or one of his arms, he thought after a moment. Who needs two arms, anyway?

 After a while, Snape only rested his bloodstained lips lightly against Harry’s neck, allowing his healing saliva to seep straight into the open wound, healing it quicker than usually. A groan escaped the older man and a single thrust was forced upon the younger man before Snape froze in his movements, still pressed up as close to Harry as he could with his clothes still on.

 Harry stole a quick look over his shoulder. Feeling relieved that he was still alive, if a little uncomfortable, the dizziness brought upon him by the blood loss made him feel more at ease and he unconsciously relaxed in the harsh embrace. Snape was staring at him, wide-eyed, panic plastered across his normally closed off face. Harry felt sleepy so he closed his eyes and allowed his head to fall to the soft pillows.

 

He felt Snape’s hand smoothing down his unruly hair as a low whisper found its way into his ear. “Harry, I’m so sorry, please tell me I didn’t hurt you, I didn’t mean to if I did, I just…” swallowing down his guilt, he stopped talking and moved away from his mate, slowly retreating, afraid to cause any more harm.

Harry mustered all his energy into rolling over onto his other side, so they could face each other. “I’m fine,” he whispered, “you didn’t hurt me, you just frightened me, that’s all.”

A muscle twitched in Snape’s cheek. “My saliva has affected you,” he murmured.

Harry looked at him with scrunched up eyebrows, “What do you mean?”

Snape relaxed back into the bed, sighed and extended an arm that Harry quickly moved to rest his head upon. “See?” Snape raised an eyebrow at him, “You would never have done that unless forced to.” Harry didn’t answer, he had fallen asleep, curled up close to the man he had once claimed he would hate for all eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a little short, but my reasons being simple, I ask for your understanding. 
> 
> Tell me your thoughts!   
> How will everything progress after the awkward morning after where Harry finds himself tangled in Snape's sheets?
> 
> If you find any typos, let me know. 
> 
> *hums thoughtfully and sneaks off to her well-guarded mind-palace*


	12. A walk amongst dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape pokes and prods around in Potter's head. Harry is slowly accepting Snape as a part of his life when bad news reach him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another four pages to tickle your mind~ 
> 
> I can't believe Alan Rickman has passed away. The world is now a bleaker place.

Snape was lying very still beside his sleeping mate. He had come to hope that Harry would accept him as a part of his life, but he had not actually thought it possible. But here he was, that delicious boy with his annoyingly scruffy black hair, curled up on his side, snuggled close to Snape himself.

Snape closed his eyes and tried to think of anything else than the growing issue in his groin or the tasty thing drooling on his clothes. His usual trick of mentally counting all his ingredients in the potions cupboard didn’t work, so he tried to think of the person he hated the most to distract himself.

At first, Harry’s face with his messy hair sticking up at all ends popped up before his inner eye, but it was quickly disregarded and he waved it off as an old habit. The next person to appear in his mind was the image of his father, beating his mother. Gritting his teeth in anger and clenching his fists, he forced the imagery out of his head again, because Harry had started moaning softly in his sleep and it didn’t help him to reach his goal in the least. Then Harry muttered something. If Snape had been mortal, he wouldn’t have been able to discern the words, but since he wasn’t, he heard every syllable.

“I will…not tell…”

Snape frowned. What on earth was he talking about? Not tell _what_? Harry had fallen silent and Snape was just about to resume his earlier mental exercise when Harry started talking again.   
  
“…lies…that bloody pink toad….”

 Snape swallowed a sudden snort that threatened to escape his lips. There was only one person in Hogwarts that could be described like a _pink toad_. Dolores Umbridge. Snape recoiled at the mere thought of her, torturing _his_ Harry with that damned black quill. He soon found that the earlier problem did no longer exist. His erection had wilted at the simple thought of the revolting thing called Umbridge.

 Relaxed, comfortable and rather bored, since he wasn’t tired, Snape decided to try to make his way into Harry’s mind anew. He reasoned that it would be easier if his mate was asleep and that it could be explained as a dream if he did notice him prodding his mind. Closing his eyes, he concentrated for a moment before finding the thin thread he needed. And he was inside. Really, the boy had no defences what so ever! If only the Dark Lord knew…Snape shuddered at the thought. At least Harry didn’t seem to notice him looking around this time. He concentrated and suddenly, he could see the scene Harry was dreaming as if he was experiencing it from a pensive. The edges of the dream looked like a fluttery fog, swirling and moving in and out of focus, like mist breathed out from a Dragon’s snout.

 Snape saw Harry sitting at a single desk in the pink toad’s office. The pink walls adorned with decorative plates of mewling kittens made his skin crawl. Everything seemed very realistic and yet there was something off with it all. As usual with dreams they all seem perfectly sensible until _something_ puts you off.

 Shaking the uneasy feeling off, Snape strolled towards Dream-Harry and leaned over his shoulder. He saw the thick red blood seeping from Harry’s wounded hand as he wrote with the other. “ _I will not tell lies_ ”, he read out loud with a displeased expression. Dream-Harry didn’t seem to notice his presence at all, so he hummed a little, clasped his hands behind his back and turned to the pink toad.

 Umbridge was grinning malevolently towards Harry, looking right through Snape as if he wasn’t there at all. Snape narrowed his eyes in thought for a second, before he waved his hand in front of her eyes. No reaction. Then he noticed what the Over-Inquisitor was doing, more than staring with her bulging eyes.

 Her hands were tearing up a piece of parchment, the pieces falling down to rest on her desk. Curious, Snape crossed the room to investigate. The dream was stable enough for him to walk around in it so he presumed he would be able to read what the note had said. When he was standing right next to her, he followed the line of his nose and peered down at the pieces. It was his note to Potter. The scroll that overruled detention if Potter happened to be late. Snape frowned. What could it mean?

 He did not have time to linger on that thought since the scenery was changing rapidly around him. It felt as if he was venturing deeper into Potter’s dream world, going even further into his subconscious. He looked around. It was dark, maybe night? Definitively outside, since a thick fog was materializing around his feet and he could see a few stars become visible in what he presumed was the sky. Several large stones appeared around him. Snape realized where this particular dream was set, and his fears were only confirmed when he heard a short, high pitched squeal of pain, which wasn’t Harry’s. _Pettigrew_. He had arrived at the time where The Dark Lord’s faithful servant sliced off his own hand to resurrect his Master.

 He spun around just in time to see the dirty, bound, gagged and wounded Harry starting to squirm in pain as Pettigrew dug his knife into Potter’s arm and cut him open. Snape felt his rage bubbling up beyond his control. In three swift steps he was close enough to touch them both.

 Not expecting anything to happen, he clenched his right hand into a fist and directed it with great speed towards Pettigrew’s nose with a snarl. When it made contact it did so with a wet, crunching noise, much like when you break off a cabbage leaf. Snape’s eyes widened in mild shock. He could actually interact with Potter’s dreams? He watched as Peter stumbled backwards, clumsily trying to stop the blood flowing from his broken nose with only a bloodied stump for a right hand, the other hand still holding a tight grip on the dagger.

 Snape ignored the filthy scum that had dared to harm his precious mate and he turned to the trembling Harry. He pulled out his wand and Harry flinched at the sight of it. Snape sought out those green eyes, kept staring at them until they looked back. “I will not hurt you, Harry” he whispered, as he did a fluid motion with his wand and the deep wound on Harry’s arm knitted itself together. Before he could free his mate of the ropes, he heard Wormtail grunting behind his back.

Turning around, he stared down icily at the plump, muddy form of Peter Pettigrew. Peter’s small watery eyes narrowed in what was supposed to look intimidating as he shrieked, “You will pay for this, Snape!” with his unnatural squeaky voice.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Have you spent so much time with the rats so that you are both looking like them and talking like them as well?” Snape slowly raised his wand in front of himself, caressing the ebony with light, loving touches. “I can think of at least fifty different curses I would like to try on you now, Wormtail, but I am afraid I have more important matters to tend to than that.” Snape snapped his fingers and ropes, conjured from nothing, curled themselves tight around Pettigrew’s body. “I’ve always wanted to try that,” Snape smirked, “but I’ve never had any actual use for it. Not allowed to use it on students.”

Turning his back on the whimpering servant of the Dark Lord, Snape quickly removed the gag and banished the ropes holding Potter pinned to the gravestone. As soon as the support of the ropes was gone, Harry’s legs gave way beneath him, the stress and injuries having been too much.

Dream-Harry stared wide-eyed as Snape; the well known Death Eater gently pulled him to his feet and held him close. He took a deep, shuddering breath and caught a whiff of vanilla and Earl Grey…then the scenery slowly faded, the echoing screams from Cedric died out and his eyes slipped shut to a blessed darkness.

 

Snape withdrew slowly from Harry’s mind. His mate’s subconscious had finally allowed the nightmares to end. Feeling drained from exploring and experiencing Harry’s dreams like that, Snape tucked them both beneath the duvet and fell into a deep sleep, nestled close to his mate.

 Early the next morning, Harry woke up with a warm feeling inside, although, he did feel a little weak too. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that he was cuddled up in Snape’s arms; he remembered what had happened last night. His face was resting beneath the older man’s chin and Harry took a deep breath. He recognized that smell. A strange thought drifted into his brain. Something about a black shadow punching Pettigrew… More fragments of the dream caught up with him as his cheeks coloured. Snape. He had been dreaming about Snape. And Snape had been rescuing him from Pettigrew. Feeling his cheeks burn even more the longer he thought about it, Harry didn’t move. He had no desire to tell the man next to him he had started to dream about him as well.

 

Saturday, 27th of September

 

In the following days, Harry and Snape met up every night. Snape took a drink from Harry’s wrist and then he’d help the younger with his homework if he had any. If not, they’d sit in silence in front of the fireplace, Snape feeling his nerves calming down by the presence of his mate and Harry almost dozing off until it was time for him to return to his dorm. By the time a whole week had passed after Snape’s breakdown they had realized that neither of them really despised the other’s company. Snape had admitted this to himself some time ago, but it was only recently he had actually told Harry as much. The response he had gotten surprised him, Harry had answered that he liked the quiet time they spent in the dungeons away from the noisy Gryffindor Tower where he never could concentrate on his homework.

Today, Harry was outside in the sunny courtyard with Ron and Hermione doing some drawings of Bowtruckles for their Care of Magical Creatures homework when suddenly, Hedwig came swooping down towards them. Harry’s face brightened up when he saw her, but fell as soon as he noticed that her left wing was crooked.

Hedwig landed with a soft hooting noise in Harry’s lap. She had a weather-beaten note tied to her leg, which Harry quickly removed and put into his pocket before he started to soothe his battered bird. It was obvious that someone had tried to get the letter before it was delivered to him and it wasn’t hard to figure out who had tried, considering all the new regulations that had been flooding the school lately.

“That bloody Umbridge, she’s goin’ after our owls now too?” Ron snarled when he saw the obvious pain in Hedwig’s eyes.

Harry gently stroked his owl across her feathers and rose to his feet. “I’ll take her to Professor Grubbly-Plank, she’ll fix her wing in no time.”

Quickly grabbing his parchments with barely recognizable Bowtruckle drawings and his ink stained quill, he shoved it all into his bag while Hedwig climbed up to his shoulder to ruffle Harry’s hair with her beak.

Hermione looked concerned. “We need to be very careful if Umbridge is trying to control the owls. What if she found out about…-” She looked around to see if anyone was listening in on them and whispered, “… _Snuffles_?”   
  
Harry closed his bag, with a tad more force than necessary, glared at Hermione and said, “She won’t. As long as we keep quiet and use words only we understand in the letters.”

Hermione nodded at his words and Ron muttered in agreement. Harry looked around the leaf covered cobblestones to see if he’d missed something. When he was satisfied he hadn’t, he swung his bag onto his owl-free shoulder and said, “See ya’ later,” to Ron and Hermione. Harry hurried off to try to find the Professor before lunch break.

Later, having left Hedwig in the capable hands of the professor for Magical Creatures, Harry went straight off towards the Great Hall to grab some lunch, the letter in his pocket forgotten.

 

It wasn’t until five hours later, comfortably seated with his friends in front of the fireplace in the Common Room, finally finished with his awful drawings, that Harry recalled the letter.

Unfolding the small scroll, with Ron and Hermione on each side of him trying to read with him, he saw that the message consisted of a handwriting that was barely legible. Someone had written it in a hurry. It was from Remus. Sirius had gone missing from Grimmauld Place...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think about the dream sequence...
> 
> And where's Siri-uh...Snuffles??


	13. Tea, Bourbon and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tells Snape of Sirius disappearance, who tells Dumbledore, who tells them both to calm down and then proceeds to leave the two mates to their own business.

Saturday, 27th of September  
6:12 pm

 

Harry banged his fists on the thick oak door of Snape’s quarters and burst inside as soon as the door swung open, almost crashing into the man in his hurry. Snape hadn’t even had a chance to close the door until Harry began to tell Snape what had happened.

The words came out in a quick and jumbled mess about Hedwig’s broken wing, the trip to Professor Grubbly-Plank and Remus’ quickly scribbled down letter. Snape had to grab the younger’s shoulders and give him a good shake before he could get a coherent sentence out of his mate.

 When Harry had told everything he knew to Snape, he looked so devastated that Snape couldn’t help himself and pushed the young man into his own favourite armchair and quickly made some tea for him. After a few moments with the warm mug in his hands, Harry sighed and finally seemed to calm down a little.

 In the meantime, Snape’s mind was already working on who might have been the abductor, if it had indeed been a kidnapping, and what in Merlin’s white beard did they want that imbecile for anyway? But then Snape glanced at his mate, who looked very close to weeping and he closed his eyes in a deep sigh. Of course. To get to Potter. There was obviously only one solution to this. He cringed mentally. He would have to try and poke around at the next Death Eater meeting. Opening one eye, he observed as Potter shakily sipped the hot tea. Closing his eyes again, Snape released yet another deep sigh. He had kept all the meetings a secret from Potter this far. There was really no need for him to know about the atrocities that took place there. The continuous tortures of innocent muggles or mudbloods. He hadn’t told Potter, because he didn’t want him to only see him as a Death Eater and besides, most meetings took place at late evenings and nights so there was no time to tell anyway. He knew he had to speak to Dumbledore about this.

 Harry kept stealing short glances in Snape’s direction. He knew the man must be thinking hard and didn’t want to disturb him in any way, but looking hadn’t ever hurt anyone, had it? Harry found himself wondering what the man would look like when he was asleep. He kept that thought in his mind, trying his best to focus on how those black strands would rest upon the soft pillows, how the shadows would play over that large beak in the dark. Anything was welcome in his mind at the moment, anything at all, as long as it kept his brain occupied not thinking on what could have happened to Sirius.

Groaning, he clenched his eyes shut hard. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened to his Godfather. What if it was Voldemort who’d taken him? What if he was being tortured this very moment? Harry couldn’t stand the thought and so he snapped his eyes back open, to stare at Snape’s sharp profile in front of the fireplace. He observed as Snape moved to grab a small box on the mantelpiece and then threw a handful of powder into the fire. The fire, blazing in a beautiful emerald green, soon vanished, whisking his mate away. Where, Harry had no idea. But he could guess. And soon enough, the fire blazed green again and first Snape stepped out, Dumbledore not far behind him.

Snape had ended up standing behind the armchair Harry was sitting in, his mate looking utterly miserable. He figured that if he stayed close, Potter would keep calm, being under the influence of his scent. He was right. Harry was able to calmly tell his story, Dumbledore listening intently the whole time. When Harry finished with saying, “-and then I hurried down here to tell Snape.” Dumbledore glanced quickly at Snape, a knowing look in his glittery eyes.

“Harry, my boy-” Dumbledore started, straightening himself up a little where he sat on the couch, “-would you allow me to have a look at that parchment from dear old Remus?”

Harry nodded and reached into his pockets to give it to the Headmaster.

Snape casually leaned over the backrest of the armchair to press his nose into Potter’s messy hair to take a slow, measured breath. He felt both Potter and himself relax a little. October was so close now; he could almost feel it vibrating in the very air around them. ‘ _Soon_ ,’ he caught himself thinking.

Dumbledore held the slip of parchment so close to his crooked, impressively large nose, the tip almost touched it. After a few moments, he looked up and said in a low voice, “Well, Remus most certainly wrote this. It is safe to assume that Sirius has, in fact, gone missing.” 

Snape rose to his full length and narrowed his eyes a little. “And what do you propose we do about it, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore looked up at Snape. “Severus. I must ask you to be very, very careful…”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed even more. “Careful-” he snapped, “I am always careful.”

The Headmaster kept his gaze steady as he spoke once more, “I know you are Severus. But this time we must operate with extreme caution. You have to try to find out if it is indeed Voldemort who has taken our Sirius.”  
  
Snape flinched at the Dark Lord’s name. “I have already taken that into consideration. It might very well be the Dark Lord, but it could also be the daft man himself running away from our protection because he is _bored_!” he spat, as if the word itself had contaminated his tongue.

The old man merely nodded, “If that is the case, though, I believe he would have told Remus.” 

Snape looked baffled. “Why in Merlin’s rotten potions would he do _that_ for?”  
  
Harry couldn’t help it; he released a half-choked snort.  
  
Dumbledore smiled at Snape. “Severus, my boy. You never thought there was a reason behind Remus being so keen on looking after Sirius?”

Snape stared at the headmaster until the realization hit him slowly. “You _can’t_ mean…”

Dumbledore’s smile widened and Snape spluttered, “That werewolf actually _likes_ the mutt?!”

Now, both Harry and Dumbledore was smiling broadly, watching Snape’s usually composed façade fall away to a shocked and dismayed expression.

Harry looked up at Snape, “You really didn’t know?” Snape’s blank stare told him enough and in the midst of all the worry and what if-s, Harry began to laugh. It only lasted a short while, but it made him feel a little better.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and the seriousness of the matter at hand was, once again, obvious to all of them. “Severus, when is the next meeting?”  
  
There was no need to ask ‘which meeting’ he was talking about. It was all painfully clear.

Snape pursed his lips and muttered in a low voice, “Next Friday. The third of October.”

“Ah. I see.” Dumbledore looked thoughtful, silently pulling his hands through his long, white beard. A moment later, he broke the silence, “Well, we shall have to wait then, until you have spoken with Voldemort’s underlings.” He sighed deeply, “Let us all hope it really is as Severus says; that he has left the house because he was bored.”

Harry felt the anger bubbling up inside him, that old man is going to sit here and wait until he comes back! What if Voldemort already has him? He’ll be tortured to death before Snape even gets to that bloody meeting! He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Snape’s warm hand, squeezing his left shoulder gently. Harry felt himself calm down beneath the weight of his mate’s hand. He thought about it some more, and realized that if they gathered the Order to search for Sirius, they’d probably be exactly where the Dark Lord wanted them. Gathered up like lambs for slaughter.

Snape made a curt nod to show he agreed with the Headmaster’s words. “It wouldn’t be the first time he’s run away from that house.” Glancing down at his mate, he quickly added, “I’m quite certain he is all right.”

 

Harry only nodded. They were all silent for a while, until the Headmaster brought up what they all had been thinking about since the mentioning of the date. “How will you cope, Severus? With the meeting being so early in the month, will you not feel-”

Snape straightened his back, almost glared at the Headmaster, and cut off the old man’s words quickly, “It will not be an issue, Headmaster. I will have overcome any such… _urges_ , until then.”

The Headmaster looked at the Potions Master for more than fifteen seconds, as if to try and decipher a hidden, well planned lie behind the spoken words. When he had found none, he brushed off some imaginary lint from his robes, rose from his seat, nodded to Harry and said to Snape, “Do have a nice evening; I’m sure all of this will be sorted out soon.”

Dumbledore walked to the other side of the room after their muttered goodbyes and disappeared with a green flash in the fireplace, leaving Harry and Snape to themselves in the sitting room.

 

* * *

 

Saturday, 27th of September  
8:56 pm

Harry swallowed, he was afraid that Sirius would be tortured at that Death Eater meeting and he knew Snape hated his Godfather’s guts. What if Snape saw Sirius there and decided not to report it? What if he thought it would be a clever way of getting rid of that ‘mutt’ for good? Harry felt his insides curl with dismay. He didn’t want to think that of Snape, not now, not after all this… He realized that Snape’s hand was still resting on his shoulder and took comfort in that. Suddenly, a warm gust of air revealed that Snape had leaned down and was now pressing his nose to Harry’s hair again.

“Are you okay, Potter?” Snape’s lazy, drawn out syllables made Harry’s skin tingle. Not that he'd admit that, never.

“Yeah. I think so.” Harry nibbled on his lower lip, thoughtfully. Then he decided to ask his mate, to hear what he had to say, “You _will_ tell us if you see him, won’t you?”

Snape flinched. That Potter would actually think that he would sink that low…It certainly wasn’t a secret that they hated each other, but not tell Harry his Godfather was in the Dark Lord’s hands? The Potions Master huffed, “Of course I will,” before he walked away from the armchair.

 

Finding himself in front of his liquor cabinet, he reached for a nice bottle of bourbon to calm himself down. Without really thinking, he took two glasses and set them on the small table in front of the couch, where he sat down with a relaxed sigh. When he had poured himself a healthy finger of liquid gold, he filled the other glass with a similar amount. Glancing at Potter, he saw that the young man was watching him curiously. Snape then offered him one of the glasses.

Potter took the offered glass without question, looked at it a moment and then he sniffed at its contents.

He was slightly startled when Snape raised his own glass and his smooth voice echoed in the dungeon, “To the safe return of your Godfather.”

Harry stared at him a moment, then he repeated the words and did his best at tasting the alcohol. It burned all the way down his throat and he felt his eyes water slightly. Despite the awful feeling, he took another quick gulp and felt it burn again. At least this way, he knew he was alive.

 

Snape was smirking faintly behind the rim of his own glass, observing as Potter did his best at drinking the bourbon. His blood would taste divine with some of that twelve year old whiskey rushing through his body.

As soon as Harry had set down his empty glass, Snape reached over to fill it up again. After Potter’s second glass, Snape noticed a very attractive flush spreading across his cheeks. By the time the glass had been emptied a third and fourth time, it was past ten in the evening and Harry slumped backwards in the armchair, closed his eyes and sighed. He felt warm and fuzzy all over.

 

Now, Snape set down his own empty glass on the table, took a few short steps over to Potter’s motionless body and simply observed him for a minute. Contemplating his options mentally, Snape sprang into action as soon as he had decided what to do. He reached down for Potter’s hands and pulled lightly. Harry understood what he wanted and sat up straighter, eyes still closed and a goofy smile plastered on his lips.

Snape wrapped his arms around the younger, lifting him up and holding him close. Harry hummed and draped his own arms around Snape’s neck, where he sighed contentedly at the warmth and security. The Potions Master carried his mate to his bedchamber, where he lay him down carefully on the soft mattress. Harry only groaned as he felt Snape pry his arms away from his neck.

Snape turned off all the lights with a flick of his ebony wand and placed it close at hand on the night stand next to the bed, before he started to remove his robes. Folding each and every item of clothing carefully, he glanced now and then to Potter, lying on his bed, snoring softly.

When he was only in his shirtsleeves and his black trousers, he sat down on the edge of the bed and jostled Harry awake. “Harry,” he whispered, “Please do not be alarmed, I am only going to remove your robes.”

A soft mutter in response and Snape began to undo clasps and pull off fabric from his mate’s dazed body. When he was done, most of Harry’s clothes had been carefully folded and placed neatly on a chair. Snape pulled down the covers of the bed and tucked Harry’s limp legs beneath the duvet. As himself, Harry was still wearing trousers and a white shirt. The glasses were tidily placed on the night stand, but the Gryffindor tie was nowhere to be seen, Snape had only tossed it in a general direction towards the other clothes.

Now, he slid between the covers himself, moved close to Potter and undid the first three buttons of the younger’s shirt. Almost overcome with need, he forced himself to stop a moment and just breathe. The scent wafting off of Potter was pure delight and joy to his olfactory senses. With an arm around his mate’s back, Snape pulled them both a little higher up in bed, to a half sitting position. Harry’s head lolled lazily to the side, unwittingly exposing his pale neck to the vampire next to him. Snape felt his mouth water and he stared down at that throat with desire in his eyes.

Harry shifted slightly and Snape grabbed his chin to press a kiss to that slack mouth. Harry’s eyes popped open with a start. They soon closed again though, when he felt the softness of Snape’s own lips and the gentleness he was being treated with. He felt so safe with Snape this close to him, touching him and kissing him it was almost ridiculous.

As soon as the kiss ended, Harry moved a little closer, tilting his head properly to allow his vampire his dinner. Snape didn’t need any coaxing. He bit down on that smooth neck, felt his mouth fill up with the most delicious blood he’d ever tasted and groaned in delight. Removing his teeth from the wound and pulling Harry closer was done so smoothly his mate hardly noticed it. As his lips sealed around the puncture wounds and he started to drink in earnest, he could taste the light tinge the bourbon had made on Harry’s blood. It was even better than usual.

 

When he was done, Snape carefully licked the wounds clean with his tongue, making sure his saliva healed the scars properly. He kept licking long after the marks were gone, only to make sure that Harry would become more prone to react sooner to the healing and numbing effects. The more frequently used, the better it would work. Up to a point of course. Snape wasn’t sure what would happen if Potter lost a leg and he proceeded to lick the wound. Would it simply heal over, or would his mate sprout a new leg? Lost in thought, he abruptly remembered the other aspect of the vampire saliva. Harry had begun to moan and cling to him. He stopped what he was doing immediately. When used in excess, the vampiric saliva could cause sexual arousal in the human it was exposed to. He’d forgotten that.

Snape allowed Harry to grab his shirt and nuzzle closer, but he remained stoic and pulled them both lower in the bed with the covers up to their chins, not tolerating any further advances and gently caught any hand that strayed. Soon, Harry succumbed to a dreamless sleep, exhausted from loss of both blood and Godfather. Snape never moved from his spot behind Potter and neither did he squirm out of Potter’s hand holding his own.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are your thoughts on Sirius' disappearance?  
> Was Snape too out-of-character or simply being a love-stricken vampire with extreme self control?  
> What will happen during the Death Eater meeting? Will Snape be able to attend? 
> 
> So many questions, so few answers...
> 
> Until next time~


	14. Hangovers and Hairballs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potter's head hurts and Padfoot is on the loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So so sorry it's taken so long to update! This was supposed to be way longer but I've been under the weather for a while and now I've caught the flu so it's even worse. 
> 
> As soon as I get better, I'll try to get back to the longer chapters I wrote earlier. For now, I figured it would be better to give you this and a tiny status update. I'm sick. Fic is put on ice until I'm well. (Which, hopefully, is soon)

 

Saturday, 27th of September to Sunday, 28th of September

Night. Somewhere in the outskirts of London.

 

Sirius Black, once a prisoner at the feared wizard prison Azkaban but more recently forced to live in his parent’s old house, was furious. He had honestly believed that he could trust Remus, his best friend since school and more recently, lover. But no, he was always the one to receive the short end of the stick. Or wand. Whatever. Always the one to be held in the dark, always the one to be fooled. Well, _not any more_. Sirius trudged on through the heavy rain, his mind set on only one thing. He’d get him this time!   


Sunday, 28th of September

9:21 am

  
Waking slowly, Harry became aware of an intense headache. With every beat of his heart, Harry’s head felt as if it would burst into a million pieces. Bracing himself for inevitable pain, he opened one eye. _Thank Merlin_ , he thought. The room was still dark. Keeping an eye open made him feel like everything was spinning, so he quickly closed it again.

 

“How are you feeling?” Snape asked in a soft voice near Harry’s head, careful to not be too loud.   


Snape was stirring next to him; Harry felt the movement all the way into his stomach, which started churning. “Bloody awful,” Harry croaked in a weak whisper.

 

The Potions Master hummed thoughtfully as he climbed higher in the bed, so he could lean over Potter slightly. Carefully placing his palms on each side of Harry’s aching head, he started to rub his temples very lightly with his fingertips.   
  
With every sound enhanced, the lightest brush of Snape’s shirtsleeves against the sheets made Harry cringe mentally. But he didn’t want to complain about it, because then Snape might stop, and those lean fingers were really nice and soothing he didn’t want it to stop at all. As Harry was lying there, he came to an abrupt realization. He liked Snape’s hands. The shape of them, the strength in them, and the way the fingers curled around his ebony wand… Sighing, he focused on the way those fingers were now massaging his head. After a moment, another thing popped into his head. _Snape’s shirtsleeves are brushing the sheets?_

 

Before his tired brain could comprehend the fact, Snape’s gentle voice interrupted, “Shall I spell the lights back on? I won’t make it too bright, but it would be nice if I could actually see you when you sigh so lovely at my touch.”

 

Harry felt his face burn with heat. Clearing his throat, he rasped out, “W-what do you mean, spell the lights on? What time is it?”

 

Snape’s hands stilled a moment, then as he continued massaging his mate, he said, “It’s about nine thirty, give or take a few minutes. I checked right before you woke up.”

 

Harry simply let out a surprised, “Oh.” Snape’s hands disappeared from his face and a dimmed light filled the room. Harry realized that they were both dressed. The soft light didn’t hurt his eyes and he sighed with pleasure as Snape’s clever fingers returned to caress his sore head.

 

Eventually, Snape drew back and lay down beside his mate once more. Gently placing his hand on Harry’s forehead, he stroked back the younger’s fringe from his half closed eyes. “Do you feel better?” he asked, leaning in closer to Harry’s ear to whisper and inhale the lovely scent at the same time.

 

Exhaling a shaky breath, Harry slowly turned his head towards Snape and said, “Yeah, actually.”

 

Humming slightly, Snape slowly wrapped his arm around Harry and curled himself closer to the warm body with that exquisite wet beating heart inside that fragile chest.

 

Buried in a warm nest of limbs and blankets next to his mate, Harry’s eyes slipped close with a small sigh, but the world tilted violently and he opened his eyes again with a gasp and a twitch as the nausea reclaimed its grip on his insides.

 

Snape removed himself from the covers and got up. Harry watched as Snape stood, stretched his arms above his head and unwittingly treated his mate to the sight of his white crumpled shirt stretching tight across his back muscles. Harry told himself he was swallowing hard because of the already passed moment of nausea.

 

Snape made his way out of the bedroom, heading straight for his desk drawer where he had prepared a small vial to ease Harry’s hangover. It had been a simple thing to foresee and he supposed he was partly to blame as well. But then, the poor boy had wanted to drown his sorrows and who was he to deny him such a simple pleasure when the potions Master himself has done it so many times?

 

With a snap of his fingers, a house-elf appears before him. When the creature opens its mouth to speak, Snape hurriedly presses his index finger to his lips, efficiently halting the high pitched voice before it has the opportunity to assault his ears.

 

The house-elf stares with its wide eyes and nods violently when Snape says; “Black tea. For two. Bring some honey.” The house-elf hurries away, thankfully without the usually noisy pang of apparition.

 

Snape turns to return to his bedroom, allowing his mind for a brief moment to replay what he had both seen and heard as he last was in the room. Harry was affected by him. And not in the usual, disgusted way either. As he pushed the bedroom door open, he heard a faint gasp and he looked up. Nothing seemed out of place. Except for maybe the fact that Harry’s face was flushing pink and his fingers were crumpling the covers with his fierce grip on them.

 

Snape was silent and approached the bed, where he knelt at Harry’s side and held up the small vial with a mischievous smirk. Harry reached out and grabbed it, a concerned look on his face. But, without further questions, Harry uncorked it and emptied the whole thing in one gulp. Snape’s smile grew wider as he took the empty vial from his mate’s hands. He placed it absentmindedly somewhere on the night table and quickly crossed the room to get to his side of the bed, where he climbed in and once more nestled close to Harry’s side.

 

Sunday, 28th of September

9:43 am

 

Amanda Wilson was on her way home when she heard it. The soft whining of a dog behind her. She turned around to shoo the animal away, but when she laid eyes upon it, the harsh words died in her throat. The big, black dog sat down when she looked at it, raising one paw as if to say ‘hello’. Amanda shifted the weight of her bag to her other shoulder.

 

Unsure if the dog really was friendly or not, she asked tentatively, “Hi there…um…doggie?”

 

The dog whined again and started wagging his tail at the woman. The action made her smile and she leaned down a little to pat the thick, shaggy fur.

 

The dog seemed to like it and barked out a short yip as she stood and said in a childish voice, “Who’s a good boy? Yeah, _you_ are! Come on, I’ll give you something to eat, you poor thing.”

 

When the dog got up and followed her, she kept talking to it, muttering softly, “…and let’s brush out those knots in your fur too, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again~ I wish I had a Snape of my own to cuddle me and bring me potions to make me feel better. *Sigh* 
> 
> Right, Quiz-Time.   
> -What is Padfoot up to? 
> 
> *Send me ideas - I looove ideas* 
> 
> *Sneezes* - I'll just crawl back into bed now. Byee~


End file.
